


Finding Superman

by SymphonyWizard



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Redemption, Romance, Slow Burn, grumpy!Clark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15478077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymphonyWizard/pseuds/SymphonyWizard
Summary: Simply put, Lois Lane's life sucks right now.  Divorced from her husband, banned from her adopted son, and fired from the Daily Planet.  On a road towards redemption, Lois vows to find Superman, who has all but disappeared years ago.  Despite the mockery receives, she goes through with the plan that a part of her knows is stupid.  Along the way, she quite literally runs into a mysterious teenage girl with a very grumpy widowed father.Sparks fly (literally in some parts), wounds mend, and maybe, just maybe Lois gets more than she's looking for.Also, up to this point, Lois Lane and Clark Kent have never met.  Nor have Lois and Chloe who aren’t even related in this story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoenixnz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixnz/gifts), [BigRed67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigRed67/gifts), [Jasmine_Shigeru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasmine_Shigeru/gifts), [dlynv82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlynv82/gifts), [Winchestergirl1967](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchestergirl1967/gifts), [k3josai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/k3josai/gifts).



 

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Lois Lane slurs, talking to the empty beer bottle.  “My husband divorces me, bans me from seeing our adopted son, and finally, I’m fired from the Daily Planet.  Me—Lois Lane—fired from the Daily Planet!”

No one responds to her as she spews her tirade.  Sooner than later, she will be evicted from her two-hundred-eighty-eight square foot studio apartment from being unable to pay her rent.  She was given a generous divorce settlement, although she didn’t want it, but she refuses to dip into that money.  Every part of her wants to get rid of those twenty million dollars, but for some reason she keeps finding a reason not to.  Why can’t she just donate all of it to a selection of charities? 

Is she just that paranoid that her ex-husband has a hand in just about all of those charity organizations?  Is it just the lingering feeling that it won’t be her maiden name attached to it?  There was a time when she didn’t mind being addressed as such, even if she always preferred to hyphenate, but it seems that she will always be known as Lois Luthor. 

Now she wishes more than ever that she could just distance herself from that name.  Yet, she doesn’t want to distance herself from her ex-husband.  Until further notice, hopefully by their next court meeting, Lex has sole custody of their son, Lachlan.  Right now, she’s not even sure if Lachlan wants to see her.  She will never forgive herself for what she did to him.  It was an accident, but it was enough to be the final straw in an already fading marriage to Lex. 

Lex told her that he wants her to be a part of their son’s life, but not until she gets her life back on track.  How long will that take?  What all does she need to do to redeem herself?  And it’s not just in her son’s life, but also in her life as a journalist. 

She was a respected journalist, having won a Pulitzer for writing a detailed exposé on the crimes of Lionel Luthor.  Humbly, she would admit that Lex provided a huge amount of information, but he wanted her to claim all the glory of that award. 

When that old man, Perry White told her that she was fired, she threw down the gauntlet.  It might have been a gamble, or even just her way of saying “Fuck you; you’re retiring in a year anyway,” but she plans to see it through.  She told him that she would find Superman. 

She said it loud enough for many to hear and they all laughed at her.  Perry didn’t laugh.  He coolly told her “Good luck.” 

Can she really blame everyone for laughing at her?  No one has seen or heard from the Man of Steel in seven years.  Some say he died; some say that he moved on or retired; some say that he went to Mars; conspiracy theorists claim the government kidnapped him and now he’s trapped in a lab somewhere.  Lois spits on conspiracy theorists.  Half of them are probably just couch potatoes immersing themselves in tabloids and sensationalistic media.  Now in this digital age, someone could post that she’s blown half the country’s political figures just to get an interview and everyone will be reposting and reposting it. 

That has happened to her, sadly.  It was humiliating seeing posts like _#slut_ and _#reporterbitch_.  The scandal grew to the point that hardly anyone would accept an interview from her for months.  Dealing with it in the way she knew best, she wrote a lengthy article on the dangers of social media and how, in the wrong context, can actually bring more harm than good.  It was so long in fact, that it had to be published in a serialized format, four parts in four consecutive newspapers. 

Lois has tried very hard to distance herself from social media.  She doesn’t want to think about what kind of hash tags are being attached to her name in the media right now. 

This foolhardy quest for finding Superman—which she doubts will have any success—might be enough to distract her.  That and the road trip she’s taken.  She had no idea where she was going; just wherever the road took her.  Right now she’s on the outskirts of some little town called Smallville.  If she remembers correctly, Lex used to own a big house in this town before they met some twenty years ago now.

“I think you’ve had enough, lady.”

Lois stares up from her empty beer bottle and her eyes fall upon the bartender.  “I paid, didn’t I?” she spits.  She looks him over thoughtfully.  “You’re kind of cute.  Why don’t you and I just get out of here?  I make it worth your time.”

The bartender scoffs and snatches the unopened bottle of beer away.  “This is bar, not a therapy center.  Now get out.” 

Lois scoffs.  “Fine.”  She brings her fists down and rises from her stool, none too gracefully.  Ignoring the fallen stool, she half-wobbles out of the bar, feeling all the eyes upon her.  As she reaches the doors, she throws her fists in the air, brandishing her middle fingers.  She leaves without another word. 

Stepping into the crisp night air, Lois stumbles towards her car.  Somehow, she manages to fish her keys out of her purse.  Pressing the button on her car remote, the doors unlock.  She barely registers everything as she opens her door, climbs in, and starts the car.  Suddenly she really wishes that this car had one of those auto-drive features, like on the family car she shared with Lex. 

She can make it back to the motel.  It’s only a few miles, right?  As she gets back on the road, the pavement looks as if it won’t stop moving in all the wrong directions.  Somewhere, maybe that part of her brain that still functioning, tells her that she really ought to pull over.  At the same time, she can’t seem to bring herself to take her foot off the gas, but rather press down harder. 

The engine is roaring, her speakers are blasting with her old Whitesnake music.  Specifically, the song “Here I Go Again” is blaring. 

“Sing it, David!” Lois screams, taking her hands off the wheel and pumping them. 

Then suddenly, as if out of nowhere, something red appears in the middle of the road.  “Holy shit!” screams Lois.  She slams both feet down on the brakes, but her reaction is too late.

With a sickening thud, her car hits the red object and everything goes black.

 

 

 _“…help, please, I’m off of Route 40, maybe two or three miles outside of Smallville_ ,” echoes a voice in Lois’ ears. 

She opens her eyes and finds herself lying on what feels like grass.  She lifts her head and spots her car sitting on its hood and is engulfed in flames.  Her vision is blurry, but she thinks she can make out some of the details of the person speaking.  She looks young, not even sixteen, blonde hair, and striking green eyes. 

“Did you hear me?” asks the girl, sounding clearer in Lois’ ears now.  “What’s your name?”

Lois opens her mouth, but then winces.  She looks down at herself and sees blood all over her front.  It does not look good and her brain doesn’t seem to be registering all the pain.  “L—Lo-is Lane,” she manages.  “Wh-what’s yours?”

“Joey Kent,” is what Lois thinks she hears as everything goes black again.  But right before she does, she could have sworn she heard sirens. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does feature some Lexois nostalgia.

Several images blur past Lois’ vision.  Images of being inside an ambulance; doctors shouting orders, doors bursting as she’s carted through a modest-sized hospital; then nothing. 

The first thing that Lois notices is the steady beeping of a cardiac monitor.  The next thing she notices is something on her wrist.  It’s a pair of handcuffs.  Finally, she opens her eyes.  It takes a minute or two for her vision to clear, but she doesn’t need to see to know that she is in a hospital room.

The real questions are which hospital and why is she handcuffed to the hospital bed?  She tries to remember the last place she was.  She remembers driving.  She remembers Whitesnake.  Where was she driving from? 

Comprehension dawns on her.  “Again?” she asks out loud, but her voice comes out as an awful rasp.  Just how long was she out?  After the DUI that made her want to jump off of LuthorCorp plaza, she would have thought she would have avoided repeating such a thing at all costs.  _A real commitment that turned out to be_ , Lois scolds herself.

At this point, Lex wouldn’t even have to stand in a corner somewhere with that silent disappointment written all over his handsome, yet calculating features.  That’s something she always loved about him.  As handsome as he was, there was always something going on in his head.  He could be working out a solution to a complicated business deal, working out a scheme that she would have insisted on being a part of, or figuring out yet another way to impress her and Lachlan.  Looking back, she usually tried to keep tabs on what he did, to figure out what he was doing before he had a chance to surprise her.  He always managed to surprise her anyway. 

For Lachlan’s sake, she wishes like hell that things hadn’t ended the way they did between her and Lex.  If she could take back all of her worst mistakes, she would do it in a heartbeat.  She might even already being sharing custody of him with Lex.  If being in this hospital bed is any proof, Lex was right when he told her that he wasn’t sure that their son would be safe with her. 

She believed Lex when he told her that he believed that she could rise up from this bad chapter in her life.  If anything, she just feels ashamed that this is one endeavor that he can’t help her with.  They helped each other through so much in their twenty years together, so now all she can do is wonder if this is indeed something that she can overcome on her own.  If she can’t overcome this alcoholism, she might never get to hold her Lachlan again.

Just thinking about him brings tears to her eyes.  She tries her best to fill her head with other thoughts.  She thinks of her keyboard, hunting down stories, doing stupid things in her pursuit of a story.  One that always put a smile on hers and Lex’s face was that time she punched a cop.  She was already having a tense day and some beat cop telling her that she couldn’t enter a scene, or even get a scoop on it just made her lose her temper. 

Lex even put her in a “timeout.”  It was their word for when they chose to punish each other by not sleeping together.  That or torturous amounts of teasing without penetration.

Wait, is that a happy memory?  It should be a happy memory, but now she’s just growing more miserable by the minute.

Maybe if she could move her hands a little more, she could cut off her painkillers.  She longs to feel pain right now.  Wait, she can still bite her tongue, can’t she?  She opens her mouth, only to realize just how stiff her muscles are. 

Dear God, how long was she out?  No matter, she sticks out her tongue far enough to bite down.  “Here goes nothing,” she mutters.  She bites down.  It’s not long before she begins to whimper.  She knows she should stop, but she continues to bite down.  By now, she’s bitten hard enough that her eyes begin to sting with tears of pain. 

This is stupid, and it barely puts all of her pain into perspective, but it has to do. 

“Wow, lady, first you have a nasty accident and now you’re trying to bite your tongue off?”

Lois immediately stops biting down on her tongue.  She muffles a pitiful _hmm_ as her eyes find a young lady standing in the doorway of her room.  Blonde, curvy, green-eyed, and way too beautiful, Lois recognizes her.  Also, she can’t help wondering who her parents could have been.  What two people could create such a lovely young woman?    

“Um…Jack?” she asks.  

“Joey,” the young lady corrects her patiently.  “And you are Lois Luthor.”

“Lane,” Lois chokes out.  “My name is Lois Lane.”  She says it, but it might take a bit more time for her to believe it. 

Joey nods as she saunters over to the chair.  Lois does like her sense of style—some sort of mix between a country girl, a professional look, as well as that of a biker with her high-heeled boots, worn jeans, red blouse and vintage biker jacket.  “So, Ms. _Lane_ , what brings you to Smallville?”

Lois raises her eyebrows.  If this girl keeps up that tone when she asks such questions, she might make a great reporter someday.  Perhaps even a detective, if she chooses the law enforcement route.  Lois would like to think that she has developed a skill for reading people.  As such, her intuition tells her that this young lady has no interest in law enforcement. 

“I’m just a woman passing through town,” she replies finally.  There’s no point in telling her about her true intentions.  She’s not in the mood for mockery. 

Joey scoffs.  “Smallville is on the wrong side of nowhere for anyone to ‘just be passing through.’”

Lois tries to maintain her composure.  This girl is way too smart.  “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?”

Joey just shrugs.  “My parents didn’t raise me to be an idiot.”  She sighs.  “Look, obviously you like to keep your business to yourself.  I just wanted to come in and see how you were doing.”

“I’m handcuffed to a hospital bed,” Lois points out.  “I’m doped up on painkillers; both my wrists and my left leg are broken; I’ll let you do the math.”

Joey looks her over thoughtfully.  As she does, a strand of her hair, which is somewhere between a bob and shoulder-length, falls into her eyes. 

 _Why does she look a little familiar?_ Lois wonders. 

“While you were out, I’ve had an opportunity to do a little research on you,” says Joey, without meeting her eyes.  “From what I’ve read, you don’t seem like the kind of woman who would let a few broken bones stop her.”

With effort, Lois smiles her approval.  “It has gotten me into trouble several times over the years.”

“Do you regret any of it?”

Lois thinks about that for a minute.  That’s a tough one.  “I’d have to think about it, but probably that time I called the Kansas State governor a dickless sadomasochist.”

“Can you even spell ‘sadomasochist’?” asks Joey dubiously. 

“I’ve misspelled simpler words,” Lois admits freely.  “My ex-husband sometimes teased me by making me sit through a kindergarten lesson.”  Thankfully, it’s a memory that Lois doesn’t have to feel sad about.  Inspired by their son, Lois and Lex started a charity for children with disabilities.  It’s a thriving charity that Lois is sure will continue to feature both their names. 

“So, there wasn’t much that I was able to save from the wreckage of your car, but one thing did stand out among the things I was able to save,” explains Joey.  “You seem to have a lot of research on Superman.”

Lois’ face goes cold.  “Look, kid, if you’re going to make fun of me, you might as well…”

“I’m not making fun of you,” Joey assures her.  “I’m just wondering how a respected journalist finds herself chasing after ghosts.  You’ve probably been asked this a thousand times already, but what’s your interest in a superhero that no one has seen in so long?  Assuming you complete your quest, are you hoping to coax him back into being a superhero…or are you just trying to prove a point to someone?”

Lois is starting to like this girl less and less by the minute.  No, she doesn’t _dislike_ her.  She _impresses_ her. This girl can’t be any older than fifteen, and yet Lois feels like she’s getting a taste of her own medicine.  This girl is grilling her much the same way that she would grill someone on a good day.  Maybe it’s just inexperience, but this girl also seems to have a calmer demeanor than Lois usually does when trying to get answers.  It doesn’t take long for Lois to lose her temper when an interview doesn’t go her way.

She opens her mouth to answer, but suddenly the door to her room flies open again, making her jump.  The sudden movement sends an awful stab of pain through her, but she does her best to conceal it.  That is nothing compared to how she reacts when her eyes fall upon the newcomer. 

Towering height with arms like tree trunks, closely cropped haircut with specks of grey which add a little flair to his otherwise dark hair, Lois thinks.  Piercing blue eyes, and somewhat pouty lips that might have been more pronounced in his youth…

“Hey, Daddy,” greets Joey cheerily. 

So this is where Joey gets her intense gaze.  Even Lois can’t deny that the man is awfully handsome. 

The man rounds on his daughter.  “I thought I’d find you here, Joanna Kent.” 

That voice…Lois groans.  It just had to be a delicate mixture of baritone and boyish smokiness, didn’t it? 

“I saved her life; I might as well check up on her,” Joey—or _Joanna_ —explains.  “Grandma Martha would lynch us both if I forgot to be courteous.  And you and I both know our mutual suffering wouldn’t end there.”

Her father holds up a warning finger.  “Watch yourself, young lady.  Now, I want you to come home with me and leave the woman alone.”

Lois can’t take this family squabble anymore.  “Hey, if at least one of you would actually acknowledge my presence in the room, I would just like to say thank you.”

The two…Kents turn their eyes on her and the mutual weight of their eyes just about fills Lois with a strange sense of claustrophobia.  She turns her gaze to the father.  “Listen, sir, your daughter saved my life.  If there’s anything I can do for you...”

“Yeah, lady, drive sober,” the man—Mr. Kent, she might as well call him—tells her shortly.  He then walks over to his daughter and stands in front of her for a moment.  Joey shoots Lois an apologetic look as she rises from her chair.  The girl is quite small compared to her father.  She must not have inherited his tall gene. 

Lois watches the two of them until they disappear out the door.  She continues to stare at the empty doorway for several minutes.  Whether they like it or not, those two seem to have piqued her interest.  If she ever gets out of this hospital bed, she’s going to need a tour guide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Clark Kent is supposed to be this immortal fellow, but personally, I see the appeal in Clark Kent actually looking like a father. Plus, can you really go wrong with a forty-something-year-old Clark Kent? Also, if my descriptions didn't suffice, I basically described Marcus Pierce from Lucifer. Although, I'm still trying to decide if I want to give this Clark an arm tattoo. Even if Clark Kent were into tattoos, I have no idea how he would get a tattoo. 
> 
> If anybody can answer that question, please feel free to add it in the comments. All I can think is that it might work if Clark's under the influence of blue kryptonite, but what happens when he is no longer exposed to the stuff? 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed!


	3. Chapter Three

Lois counts twenty-six days before she’s released from the hospital.  Ten days into that tenure, the handcuffs were removed.  Her second DUI this year and this time her blood alcohol level was one-point-fifty-seven.  What can she say?  She can handle her liquor.  Still, this being her second offense, she knows that she will be under a microscope. 

She wonders if Lex will be monitoring her purchases.  The last few times that he did such a thing was when she had a gambling phase.  Always being the one to help her through her struggles by denying her a few pleasures, he suspended her accounts until she overcame that addiction.  There was a time when she would have been offended thinking that he was monitoring her purchases, but right now, she hopes that he is.  The only thing that is stopping her from buying so much as beer now, is the thought of not seeing her son. 

More than once, she had been told that she ought to attend group therapy for alcohol abuse.  Even Lex was the one who said that she would be more likely to throw a folding chair at the counselor.  Even so, she does need to figure out a way to overcome this. 

During Lois’ time in the hospital, she would have chosen a cheap beer over the food.  It’s a hospital; it’s a place to heal people, not serve five-star restaurant quality food.  When she would look for things to watch on television, more than once, the details of her divorce from Lex would pop up. 

The funny thing about it is that until she became a subject of the news, she never realized just how out of proportion stories can get.  As a reporter herself, she always strived to be truthful in her articles.  Sensationalism is for the tabloids and gossip columnists, like her colleague, Cat Grant.  Cat Grant has gone off and started her own magazine company, Catco, in National City.

One thing that National City has that Metropolis has not had in quite some time now, is a superhero.  It would have been a highlight in her career if she could get an interview with Supergirl.  For the most part, she’s all but untouchable when it comes to the press, save for a few interviews here and there.

When Lois wasn’t watching news channels, she bore herself to death with reruns of more than a few soap operas.  If she was up at the right time, she would try to catch a rerun or two of _Friends_.  She loved that show growing up.  The last episode she caught before being discharged from the hospital was the one where Ross and Monica realized they were each other’s first kisses with Rachel and with anyone respectively.  Poor, poor Chandler, what did he marry into indeed. 

Watching comedy did cause a few problems for Lois.  For her injuries that were still a little tender, despite the painkillers, laughing caused an uncomfortable sensation.  Once she was able to use her hands more freely, she asked a nurse if she could start getting copies of the newspaper.  Newspapers aren’t quite as large as they used to be, but thankfully, they still have crossword puzzles. 

She wasn’t really into them all that much until she met Lex.  Between crossword puzzles and Sudoku, Lex always had something to do at the breakfast table.  It was always quite a turn-on for Lois, seeing Lex so deep in thought.  Eventually, his influence rubbed off on their son and then she had two handsome boys poring over crossword puzzles.  Eventually, she decided to get into them herself. 

Doing them in her hospital bed, Lois grew increasingly bored, if not a little sad.  Without anyone to discuss them with, there was little to no joy in it.

At the height of her loneliness and boredom in the hospital, she started to think about that girl, Joey Kent.  Why is she so intrigued by some small-town teenage girl?  She’s thankful to her for saving her life, but why can’t Lois leave it at that?  Is it just the weird circumstances of her rescue that has her thinking too deeply about it?  Honestly, she thinks that she should have died in that car accident.  Instead, she got out, albeit with some serious injuries.

Is it possible that it’s just that girl’s father that has sparked her interest?  He was handsome, she has to admit, but romance of any sort is the very last thing on her mind.  The moon would have to be knocked out of orbit for Lois to find herself another man.  She’s not even sure if she’s in the mood for a friend or two.  Who wants to be friends with a disgraced reporter with a drinking problem?

Due to her son’s allergies, she has long since given up cigarettes, or anything having to do with nicotine for that matter.  So far, she has had no relapses.  Due to his love for the book, probably, Lois found herself chewing sunflower seeds for a while to fill that void that was her addiction.

As Lois steps out of the hospital, she inhales deeply.  She misses the urban air, but the country crispness of what she’s inhaling will do.  Actually, there seems to be a certain beauty in how the air isn’t tainted by everything that comes with being in a city.  She would actually have to go to a gas station, or be passed by some gas hog of vehicle for her to smell gasoline.  If she remembers correctly, Lex’s company has been trying to develop more affordable methods of producing clean energy vehicles.

Lex isn’t into the car manufacturing business, but he does share Lois’ hopes for vehicles that don’t rely so much on nonrenewable resources.  You can only go so far with electric cars, but even then you are relying on a dwindling resource.  LuthorCorp itself has a number of facilities that are run purely by hydroelectric and wind power.  A few of them are even nuclear powered.  Each of those has their own sets of environmental issues, but everything has pros and cons.

Lois spots a taxi.  She has no car now, so all she can do is rely on taxi services.  With a sigh, she walks to the taxi.  At least, she tries to anyway.  She didn’t step out of the hospital completely unburdened.  Her wrists and her left leg are in casts.  She was prescribed some painkillers, but so far it’s not doing much to ease the pain of putting weight on her wrists.  Walking along with her crutches, she does her best to put as little weight on her wrists as possible. 

At least the cabdriver is kind enough to get out and assist her.  She makes no effort to brush him off.  Pretty much of all the belongings that she had in her car, which mostly consisted of a suitcase or two with some clothes, were destroyed in the car crash.  Now all she has are the contents of her purse and the ruined clothes that she wore in the car accident.  The people at the hospital were kind enough to wash out the bloodstains, but she’s going to have to visit a department store. 

First, she could really use a cup of coffee. 

“Are there any good coffee joints in this town?” asks Lois as she awkwardly settles herself in the backseat of the taxi with her legs propped up on the seat.  This would be so much easier if her leg wasn’t in a cast.  She considers herself lucky that she doesn’t have to use a wheelchair. 

“Yes, ma’am,” replies the cabdriver as he starts the car. 

Lois isn’t sure if she should feel embarrassed or grateful that the cabdriver seems to take a little extra care in the way he drives.  She has a few injuries, but she’s not made of glass. 

As the cab travels down the road, the cornfields soon clear away to reveal the outskirts of what must be Smallville.  A while back, she saw a billboard identifying the town as “The Meteor Capital of the World.”  When she asked the cabdriver for an explanation, he said that Smallville was struck two huge meteor showers, one in 1989 and again in 2005. 

For some reason, Lois doubts that everyone in the town is proud to be commemorated in such a way.  She can only imagine what kind of damage this town faced both times it was struck.

As they drive through the town, Lois can’t help but notice how quaint it feels.  She doubts many of these buildings have changed in the last fifty years or so.  She wonders how much of the townspeople have a fear of change.  The place doesn’t even have a McDonald’s for crying out loud.  In fact, Lois likes that quality.  There seems to be a certain appeal in a town without any major fast food joints.  The ones that she does see must be privately or family-owned joints exclusive to Smallville. 

Eventually, the cab comes to stop outside a place called the Talon.  From the looks of it, Lois thinks that it used to be a movie theater.  She wonders if it still operates as a theater, or if a theater was built somewhere else in town.  She’s not sure she’s fond of being in a town without at least one movie theater. 

“Do you need help getting out of the car, miss?” asks the cabdriver. 

Lois allows herself a smile at the offer.  “No thank you,” she replies, handing him a wad of cash.  “I think I can manage.”  She can feel the cabdriver’s eyes on her as she uses her good foot to pry the latch on the door and then pushing it open.  She pushes too hard and the door just swings shut again.  With a deep breath, Lois tries again.  When she manages to get the door to stay open, she slides herself forward until her legs are hanging out of the car. Finally, fighting back her winces, she twists around and grabs her purse, followed by her crutches.  Overall, it takes her about five minutes to get out of the car. 

When she finally does manage to get out of the car, she glances at each of her crutches, and then the cab as it drives away. 

That’s when she hears the sound of someone clapping slowing.  Her eyes return towards the coffeehouse and they land on none other than Joey Kent. 

“That was both impressive and pitiful, if I do say so myself,” she says.  Today, she is wearing a denim jacket over a white tank top and slim jeans over her boots.  Her hair has a slight ruffle to it.

“Why didn’t you lend a hand?” asks Lois, a little sharply. 

The teenager smiles softly.  “I was in the Talon when I saw you struggling to get out of that cab.  From what I saw, you looked like you would have said no even if I did offer.  That cabdriver offered, didn’t he?”

 _This girl is so perceptive,_ Lois thinks.  “He did offer.”

Joey gives her a sideways glance.  “You do seem like a woman who doesn’t like to admit when she does need help, but I’m going to help you anyway.  You were coming into the Talon, right?”

Lois nods. 

“Unless you can figure out how to carry a cappuccino and maybe a muffin, _and_ hobble around on those crutches, you’re going to need some help.”

Lois raises her eyebrows.  “Quite the Girl Scout, aren’t you?”

Joey shrugs.  “Nah, it’s just that your plight has outlived its humor.”

A startled fit of laughter erupts from Lois.  She’s beginning to like this young lady.  “Well then, Miss Kent, lead the way.”  

Joey places a hand over her heart and bows dramatically.  “I am at your service.”  She then opens the door to the Talon and Lois steps inside.  She likes what she sees.  Round tables situated in various places, lights on cables decorating the pillars in a pleasantly non-Christmas fashion, a stairway leading up to a door where Lois assumes is an office, something that looks like a very fancy espresso machine behind the bar…whoever designed this place has a nice taste for decorum. 

Joey leads her to an empty table.  Lois does feel grateful as Joey helps her sit down.  Not a minute later, someone in an apron shows up. 

“Ah, Joey, are you going to order something this time?”

Lois looks up at the woman.  The woman isn’t bad-looking.  Probably just a few years her junior, maybe Joey’s father’s age, the brunette looks to be Eurasian with sharp cheekbones and a slender frame.

“Yes, I’ll have my usual and what do you want, Ms. Lane?” asks Joey.

Lois clears her throat as the attention shifts to her.  “Um, I’ll just have a cappuccino and a blueberry muffin if you have them.”

“We do,” confirms Lana.  “I’ll be right back.”

Lois stares after her for a minute.  “Hmm, she didn’t ask who I was.”

“The day’s still young,” Joey reminds her.  “So, last time I saw you, you were about to tell me what’s got you so interested in Superman.”

Lois turns towards the young lady sitting across from her.  She does have to admire the innate curiosity she sees in those green eyes.  She might make a good reporter someday. 

“I can tell you’re somebody who likes to get answers,” she says appreciatively.  “I like that.”

Joey just smiles. 

“So, if you’ll allow me to answer your question with a question, what I’d like to say is, who is interested in Superman?”

Joey frowns.

Feeling confident, Lois sits up straighter.  “It’s like one day, almost seven years ago, he vanishes and within six months, everyone just stops talking about him.  Then, a year after his disappearance, someone—I can’t remember who—writes that article ‘Why the World Doesn’t Need Superman.’”

“Are saying you disagree?” asks Joey.

“Well, I…” Lois stops midsentence.  Does she agree with it?  At the same time she can’t even answer if she disagrees with it.  “I just think that it’s about time that someone figures out what happened to him.”

“Why?” asks Joey.  “Did you know him?”

Lois thinks about that.  “Well, no but…”

“I’m not trying to throw you off, I’m just asking because—and please forgive me for saying this—it seems like something born out of desperation.”

Lois tenses up and her fists clench.  She takes a few deep breaths as she reminds herself not to get angry.  After all, this is just a naïve girl.  They barely know each other, so what gives her the right to judge or make assumptions?  Maybe what makes Lois so upset is that Joey is probably right, despite her reluctance to admit it.

“Listen, I’m not here to judge you,” Joey assures her, probably noticing her body language.  “If you want to search for Superman, or anything pertaining to his whereabouts, I wish you good luck.  But correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not the first journalist to hunt down this story, are you?”

Lois says nothing as Lana comes back with their orders.  How does Lois admit that she just wants to show that she’s a great journalist without sounding like some pitiful little girl?

“So, Joey how’s your dad?” asks Lana. 

Joey looks as grateful as Lois feels for the interruption.  Joey smiles pleasantly.  “He’s good, thank you.  As usual, he barely leaves the farm, but he’s doing well.”  Now Lois wonders if her father is a local Boo Radley of some kind.

Lana smiles softly.  “Well, tell him I said hi.”

“I’ll do that,” Joey promises.

“Thanks,” and Lana walks off again. 

Joey shakes her head with a scoff.

“What’s so funny?” asks Lois.

“Oh, that woman’s been trying to get into my dad’s pants for years now,” explains Joey.  “Daddy hasn’t been on a single date since I was eight.”

“And your mother?” asks Lois before she can stop herself.

It’s very subtle, but Lois can see the faraway look in the girl’s eyes as she takes a sip of what smells like a pumpkin spice frappe.  “She died.  When I was eight,” she answers from behind her mug.

“I’m so sorry,” says Lois tenderly.  “I know what it’s like to lose a mother.”

Joey finally looks back at her and Lois no longer sees that cheerful young lady she saw out on the street, or even the hospital before that.  What she sees instead is something far more vulnerable.

Suddenly, the moment is broken as the doors open again, followed by a chorus of cheerful voices.  Lois turns toward the door and sees a group of teenagers, mostly girls that look about Joey’s age.

One of them spots them and she laughs.

“Oh, look who it is,” she says.  “It’s Kent.”

Joey looks up at the girl with a contemptuous smile.  “Hello, Arkin.  Roasting yourself at Crater Lake, much?”

Lois’ gaze returns to the girl, Arkin, again and indeed the brunette looks very tan.  It’s a little too much.  The girl meets Lois’ gaze and she looks her over briefly.

“And who is this, Kent?” asks the girl named Arkin.  She gives Lois a sympathetic look.  “Don’t bother yourself with this farm girl, lady.  She’s just fishing for a new mommy.”

 _Oh dear_ , Lois thinks, not just from the shock of the cruel joke towards Joey, but also from embarrassment.  Even if she could use both her legs, she wouldn’t have stopped what happens next.

The whole room stops and stares as Joey rises from her chair and walks slowly towards Arkin. 

Arkin doesn’t even flinch as she crosses her arms and smiles smugly.  Only when Joey is barely a step away from her does she stop, their noses practically touching. 

“What’re you going to do, Kent?” taunts Arkin.  “You gona punch me?  Slap me?” 

Joey doesn’t respond.  Instead, she roughly shoves past her and walks out the door. 

Arkin and her friends burst out in laughter.  “That’s right.  Joey Kent doesn’t hit people.  Too much of a good girl.”

That’s it.  Leaving some cash on the table, Lois grabs her crutches and rises to her feet, none too gracefully.  “She might be a good girl, but I’m not,” she mutters.  The girl named Arkin is wearing flip-flops and one of Lois’s crutches lands on her foot as she walks towards the door. 

The brat yelps in pain. 

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” Lois gasps.  “Sorry, it’s these crutches.  I’m still getting used to them.”

Arkin scowls at her as her friends crowd around her. 

Smiling to herself, Lois walks out of the Talon after Joey.  When she steps out and looks around, she spots Joey, but too late.  Lois stands helplessly as she watches the girl rumble down the road on a Harley Davidson motorcycle. 

Lois sighs heavily.  Yes, there’s a lot more going on with that girl than she thought.  Why does that make her more interested, though?


	4. Chapter Four

As much as Lois wanted to look deeper into that girl, Joey, there were a few things she needed to take care of first.  She needed living space.  She doesn’t see anything special about Smallville, but she’s not in the mood to really go searching for places to live either.  Lex promised her a house of their in the Hamptons, purely because it is her favorite vacation house, but while she has accepted the place, she doesn’t want to live there fulltime.

After a couple of weeks hobbling around in a motel room, Lois managed to find a house to move into.  Glancing through a local newspaper, she saw an ad saying that some elderly couple was moving out and were looking to sell their house to someone.  Figuring it was better than to risk waiting for another opportunity to arise, Lois jumped at the opportunity. 

Getting around town hasn’t been easy.  She has no car, and she’s too stubborn to hire a chauffeur.  In fact, she’s hardly left her motel room since she checked in.  So, when she called the number attached to the advertisement, she told them that they would have to come pick her up.  She must have spent a good ten minutes trying to convince them that she wasn’t some lunatic trying to take advantage of them.  When they hung up, she was certain they wouldn’t show up at her motel room.

When they did, she couldn’t have been caught more off-guard.  She must have looked really pathetic with half of her leg in a cast, her wrists in casts and wearing a robe over pajama bottoms and a tank-top—all of which she got from a local thrift store.  They must have taken pity on her, seeing her predicament.  For once, Lois was happy that she was injured.  She cleverly left out some of the details surrounding her injuries, but either way, they were really kind people.

The lady helped her into some proper clothing and afterwards her husband helped her into the backseat of their extended cab pickup.  Along the way to the house, Lois negotiated a sale price for their house, better than what they offered.  Being Lex Luthor’s wife for so long, Lois learned a thing or two in terms of gently pushing people towards an offer they can’t refuse.  She would like to think that she has more charm than Lex does.  Lex always teased her by calling it “sweet-talking.”

Perhaps that’s true.  Depending on the week, as they always liked to say, she was the prettier of the two and vice versa. 

When they did arrive at the house, Lois liked what she saw.  Built in 1957, the two-story house with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a full basement, and a covered porch was perfect for Lois.  There were some drawbacks.  Based on Lois’ personal observation as she roamed around the house, she thought the couple took great care of the house.  According to them however, the house required some maintenance, namely the porch which needed repainted; one of the burners on the gas stove didn’t always light; and given the house’s location, it was hard to get really good Wi-Fi. 

Lois didn’t care.  She loved it.  The house even included a sizable shed which could accommodate a car and ride-on lawnmower.  Perhaps she overpaid, but she gave them seven hundred fifty thousand dollars for the house.  The couple was in their late sixties; Lois felt that they ought to be able to enjoy their retirement wherever they were going. 

As a thank-you, the husband gave her his father’s old car—a heavily modified dark blue 1964 Pontiac GTO convertible.  For Lois to say she wanted to take the car for a ride would be a massive understatement.  She was so enthralled by the car, she was afraid to even touch the keys!  She wanted to drive it so badly, but she can’t bend her knee.

First thing on her bucket list when she gets this stupid cast off is to take the GTO for a ride.  At the same time, a mocking voice in her head is reminding her loudly to not have a repeat that landed her in Smallville Medical Center. 

As Lois got herself acquainted with her new house, there were a few things she was going to need.  All of the things the things that she wanted to keep following the divorce were put into a storage unit in Metropolis.  Remembering the number that was given to her, she arranged to have it all delivered to her new house.  A few things that the old couple did leave behind were the beds and dressers in both bedrooms, a set of pots and pans (Lois does not cook very well, so she won’t have to worry about getting too adventurous in the kitchen) an old, though very comfortable armchair, as well as a few other items. 

When the moving van came, Lois found she was glad that she didn’t have too many things.  The house isn’t a big one, so it can only fit so much.  If she will be honest with herself, there were a number of things she found herself having trouble leaving behind.  Every year for their anniversary, for example, Lex gave her turquoise jewelry to commemorate their December wedding.  Her favorites were teardrop turquoise earrings dangling from clear crystal chains that her son picked out for her when he surprised both her and Lex with anniversary gifts.  She left those behind as well.

Really the only things that were in that storage unit, that Lois would be filling up her new house with, are an assortment of suitcases, a fifty-five inch television set, her video game collection, a bunch of her old articles and research, her Pulitzer, and her favorite couch.  Having learned to at least swallow her embarrassment over her condition, she accepted the help from the movers, telling them where to put things and pretty much doing all the hard work that she very much would have like to do herself.  

Now as Lois stares at the couch in her living room, all she can think is how poorly it fits with the rest of the room.  The overstuffed leather couch looks very gaudy against the aged hardwood floorboards.  She likes those floorboards and she has no pads to put on her furniture.  Until she buys some, she will have to be careful about moving things around. 

“It’s all wrong,” she moans.  All of her things just don’t much the quaintness of this house.  She might keep the television set, but there are few things that are going to have to change, namely her couch.  Even if she wasn’t told what year this house was built, she would have guessed with was something from the late fifties, early sixties.  It feels to her like something out of an old movie she might have watched.  She hates herself for the fact that it crossed her mind, but for brief moment, she thought it was missing hired help.

Civil Rights Movement was nearly seventy years ago for crying out loud!

Her self-whipping comes to an abrupt halt as she hears a knock on her door.  Grabbing her crutches and lifting herself off of the couch, she walks to the archway into the foyer.  Having managed to learn to balance herself on one crutch without putting too much pressure on her leg, Lois unlocked the door and pulls it open. 

Why is she unsurprised by who it is?  “Joey Kent,” she addresses.

The teenage girl stands there in a blue tank top and blue jeans over some very worn-looking boots.  Her hair is up in a loose knot.  Why does Lois feel that she would look really pretty with a slightly shorter hairstyle, like a bob? 

“When I heard that someone had bought the Gavin house, I was really surprised,” marvels Joey. 

Lois gapes at her.  “You heard about that?”

Joey raises her eyebrows.  “Ms. Lane, you’re in a town called ‘Smallville;’ word travels faster than an Instagram post.”

Lois considers that thoughtfully.  Something else crosses her mind.  “Does your dad know you’re here?” she can’t help noticing how the man took an immediate dislike to her.

“No,” replies Joey.

“Then please come in,” invites Lois, stepping aside.

Joey swings the screen door open and steps into the house.  They stand together in the foyer for a minute or two. 

“Um, do you want to go into the living room and sit down?” asks Lois, breaking the silence before things get too awkward. 

Joey smiles and accepts the invitation.  Lois follows after her.  Joey takes a seat on the leather couch and Lois on the armchair. 

Joey takes a moment to look around.  “It’s weird, it’s the same house, but it’s suddenly so different.”

Lois shrugs.  “That’s usually what happens.”

“I am a little bummed though.”

Lois scoffs.  “Why’s that?”

“I was saving up for that GTO, but it looks like it’s yours now.”

The washed reporter’s face falls.  Great, now she feels guilty.  “Mr. Gavin didn’t seem aware.”

“No one was,” says Joey, staring at the big television.  “Daddy always said that I could have one of the pickup trucks once I—hopefully—get my license next year, but still I was saving up.  All my allowances and even money I earned working for my godfather out in Star City, but oh well.”

Lois feels really awful.  She thinks for a minute.  A small smile eventually forms on her face.  “Say, Joey, you have a learner’s permit, right?”

Joey frowns.  “Yeah; my dad’s an overbearing teacher that makes me want to smash something sometimes, but I’ve gotten to be pretty good at it as a result.  Plus, between you and me, my godfather is a nicer teacher.  He even let me drive one of his Lamborghinis.  He’s also the one that taught me how to ride a motorcycle.”

“Lamborghini?” repeats Lois, flabbergasted.  “Who’s your godfather, one of the Trumps?”

“Oh, thank God, no!” exclaims Joey, horrified.  “No, my godfather is Oliver Queen.”

Now Lois is totally blank.  Her father, some small-town farmer, is best friends with a billionaire.  “Someone is going to have to explain that to me, sometime.”

“Maybe, but anyway, why do ask?  About the permit, I mean?”

Lois smiles broadly.  “I am looking for a driver.  If you haven’t noticed, it’s kind of hard for me to drive with this cast on my leg.  I can pay you.”

Joey’s green eyes nearly burst out of her skull.  “You’re offering me a job?”

“You’ll have to obey street laws; you get me a ticket or into an accident, the deal’s off,” Lois informs her sternly, putting on her adult shoes. 

Joey laughs nervously as her smile becomes so wide it almost hurts to look at.  “I-I have to ask my dad, but yeah, it looks like you’ve got yourself a driver!”

Actually, Lois feels that she’s got herself a friend.  Lord knows she could really use one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Lois do have their fair share of interactions coming up, but I thought I'd start with setting the stones for Lois' friendship with Clark's little girl.


	5. Chapter Five

“Absolutely not, Joanna,” Clark declares.  “Now make yourself useful and help me with these stakes.”  She is tons better at driving stakes into the ground with her bare hands than he ever was when he was her age. 

He can just hear the voice of his wife teasingly reminding him that girls mature faster than boys.  Joanna is his miracle child and it’s always a wonder as to whether her Kryptonian or human genes win out depending on the situation.  Right now, though he wishes he could see less of her mother’s tenacity in her.

“But Daddy, come on,” she begs.  “The woman has two broken wrists and her leg is in a cast...”

“Which is her own fault,” Clark reminds her firmly.  “She was the one who decided it was a good idea to be out on the road when she was too drunk to even tell the difference between a stop sign and a lollipop.”

“And I was the one who had a burst of superspeed and ended up in the middle of the road!” his daughter fires back.

Clark stops his task and regards his little girl thoughtfully.  Her hair which was up in a loose knot when she left the house is now even messier from all the wind while running.  He walks up to his daughter and puts an arm around her shoulders.  “That was an honest accident on your part, sweetheart.  Your powers are developing; of course there are going to be a few accidents along the way.”

“Including ones that almost get people killed?” Joey grumbles.

Clark could tell her that he almost got someone killed once.  That guy just happened to be Lex Luthor, Lois Lane’s ex-husband.  “Joey, I know that you think you need to do this as some sort of apology, but you don’t owe this woman anything.  You don’t know her.”

“Gee, isn’t that why some genius invented that thing called ‘getting to know someone’?”

Clark’s face darkens.  Her snarky attitude is so much like her mother’s.  “I don’t appreciate your tone, young lady.  You are not to see that woman again and that’s final.” 

Behaving much like a five-year-old not getting what she wants Joey huffs and crosses her arms.  Clark counts ten seconds before she speaks.  “But Daddy, what’s the harm?  The woman’s injured.”

“School starts up again in five weeks; she’s going to be in those casts at least until winter; where do I stop?” asks Clark.  “How are you going to ferry this woman around when you have school to worry about?”

“Weekends,” Joey replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  “Lois seems like a reasonable woman.  I don’t think she’ll distract me from my homework.”

“Lois?” repeats Clark, dropping his tools and crossing his arms.  “So you’re on a first-name basis with this woman?” 

Joey shrugs.  “Is there a problem?”

“Joanna, for all you and I know, our new neighbor might as well be a pedophile who preys young girls like you, or worse.  She could be using you as a means to hunt down a story!”

Joey frowns.  “How is that worse than being a pedophile?  And you’re talking about her like she’s a cold-blooded reporter, why?”

Clark raises his eyebrows.  “I do my research, darling.  She’s an ex-reporter of the Daily Planet and she has a reputation for her unconventional methods of hunting down a story.  She punched a police officer once.”

Joey’s eyes widen, then whistles.  “Wow, and I thought you and Mom were a notorious team.”

Clark allows himself a smug smile as flashes of his days of him and Chloe being a team.  “We did have our moments…but none that landed us in a holding cell.  Joey, I don’t trust that woman.  I do believe she’s thankful that you saved her life, but if she’s anything from what I’ve read…”

“Exactly, Daddy!” Joey interrupts.  “From what you’ve read and probably what you’ve heard from your old friends still at the Planet.  Wasn’t it you, or Grandma Martha, or Mom, who told me that while those things give you some information about someone, that the best way to really have a solid opinion is to actually get to know them?”

“Don’t quote me, your mother, or your grandmother to me, Joey,” Clark warns.  The two of them breathe hard, but soon Clark calms down and places his hands on his daughter’s shoulders.  “Joey, I love you, and you’re right, I don’t know this woman.  But you and I both know that strangers don’t usually ‘pass through’ this town unless they have an agenda.  If what my colleagues at the Planet are telling me is true, Ms. Lane said that she would find Superman if it was the last thing she did.  I am sure that this is the last place in the world that she would have planned on hunkering down in, but that still makes her really dangerous.”

Clark watches his daughter.  She’s drinking in every word that he is telling her.  She shakes her head as she shrugs out of his hands. 

“Daddy, why do you always have to ruin things for me?” his daughter demands. 

Clark gapes at her.  “I don’t…”

“Six months ago, I met someone and later I find out from you that he’s some jerk who was only asking me out as part of some score to see how many girls he can hook up with,” begins Joey, counting things off with her fingers.  “A year ago, my ballet class invites me to a sleepover and despite your warnings, I went and I ended up being made into an omelet and it was posted online.  People called me ‘Jomelet’ for weeks!”  Her voice breaks.  “It’s like people have a sixth sense that I’m different.  There’s nobody in the world I can relate to.  I’m the only ‘Kryman’ in the world.”

Clark forces back a smile.  She came up with the word as a solution to growing tired of saying “part-human, part Kryptonian” all the time.  He still wonders why she didn’t go with “Hyptonian.” She said that it made her sound like an expert on hypnosis.  He could argue that her chosen word could easily form a hurtful pun.

“I just want a friend, Daddy,” Joey confesses softly.  “Admittedly, Lois sometimes looked like she was viewing me as a mystery for her to solve, but she’s the first person in the longest time who hasn’t looked…uncomfortable with me around.  Please don’t take that away from me.”

Clark studies his daughter for several moments.  The young lady is his greatest treasure, the one living thing that he loves more than anything in this world.  He hates to say it, but she’s right.  He can’t fully relate to her.  From the start, he and Chloe knew that their daughter was going to feel alone in the world.  Since Chloe died, Joey doesn’t have a constant figure to appeal to her human side, let alone act as a mother figure.  She has her grandmother and godmother, but they are in Topeka and Star City respectively. 

Lord knows that he is a bit dim when it comes to women. It doesn’t take an expert to tell that his daughter would like to have a mother figure that doesn’t require her to run somewhere in order to see.

He knows his daughter and it breaks his heart that this is happening to her.  It would be utterly cruel of him to suggest that she’s searching for a mother figure in this woman…especially when she is already being teased for having a dead mother.  What is it about children coming up with such cruel ways to make fun of someone? 

“Baby, I don’t want to take that away from you,” Clark whispers to his daughter.

“Good, because I think we have a visitor,” mumbles Joey. 

Clark frowns then tunes into his surroundings.  He doesn’t hear a vehicle.  The sound doesn’t exactly have the same tone as footprints.  It’s the sound of crutches.  He rolls his eyes and walks towards the barn. 

“Daddy, what’re you doing?”

“Pest control,” Clark replies gruffly.  He selects a key from the karabiner hook on his belt loop and selects a long narrow case on one of the workbenches.  Ignoring his daughter’s protests, he unlocks the case and opens it.  He removes the shotgun.  He finds a box of shells and begins loading it. 

“Daddy, we’re nice neighbors!” protests Joey.  “We’re not a couple of old men who shoot at unwanted visitors, especially when they’re not salespeople!”

“Maybe we should be,” Clark mutters as he finishes loading the weapon.  Turning off the safety, he rises to his feet and exits the barn.  Not long after, he comes face to face with his uninvited guest.

“Holy crap,” Lois gasps. 

Clark has to admit the woman looks pitiful.  Did she seriously hop all the way here on those crutches with those wrists?  How much pain does the woman have to be in before she calls it quits?  Probably to spare herself from trying to fit jeans over her cast, Lois is wearing small shorts.  She doesn’t strike him as a woman who likes to wear such revealing shorts on a normal day, unless maybe she’s going for a jog.  With those shorts, she is wearing a yellow tank top. 

Judging by the angry red color of her shoulders, Clark would say that she didn’t think to wear sunscreen.  Poor woman.

“What are you doing here?” demands Clark. 

Lois shrugs.  “I got tired of being in the house; I wanted to meet my neighbors.”

“You have closer neighbors without having to go a mile and a half to trespass on my property,” Clark points out, raising the gun. 

“Yeah,” Lois says, eyeballing the shotgun fearfully.  “I noticed all the ‘no trespassing’ signs.”

“Good, now I am going to give you five seconds to turn around and get off my property—one.” Clark aims the gun at her head. 

Now Lois is afraid.  “Now, Mr. Kent, let’s talk about this.”

“Two.”

“Daddy, you’re insane!” shouts Joey.

“Three.”

“Can’t you give me a better head start?” begs Lois, her voice suddenly very high-pitched.

“ _Four_.”

“No!” Joey and Lois scream together.

Clark squeezes the trigger.  As he does, Joey rushes forward and knocks Lois out of the way.  At the sound of the blast, Clark’s ears appreciatively pick up the sound of wings fluttering.  He lowers the weapon and blows on the barrel dramatically.  “Okay, you two can relax now.”  He doesn’t hide his amusement as the two women before him pant.  He barely flinches as his daughter fixes a dangerous scowl on him. 

“It was a blank,” she growls. 

Clark smiles down at his daughter.  “Yup, now let’s help this silly woman to her feet.”  He sets the shotgun down and walks over to Lois.  Joey gets the message and goes to the other side of Lois and hooks a hand under her shoulder.

“I don’t need help,” Lois protests stubbornly.

“And I don’t need to keep pests from getting into my crops,” Clark adds dryly.  “Alright, sweetie, on three, one, two…”  He and his daughter carefully lift the woman to her feet.  “Now, Joey, will you please take the shotgun and go around the farm?  Make sure there are no crows about?”

“Including the ones that you used to be?” asks Joey, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ha-ha,” Clark grunts.  “Those ones you can just beat the crap out of if they get on your nerves.”  He and his daughter share a private smile.  Normally he would have jokingly given her permission to bury them in the back forty, but there’s a stranger in their midst.  One who already thinks he’s nuts. 

“And don’t waste gas on the four-wheeler,” Clark adds.  “Didn’t you tell me last week that Ryan is ready for riding?” 

Joey smiles brightly.  “Seriously?”

Clark smiles warmly.  “Go take that lovely pony for a ride.”

“Will do!” squeals Joey, happily.

Clark waits a moment as his daughter disappears into the barn.

“You said you used to be a crow?” asks Lois, suspiciously.  “Are you part-bird?”

Clark rolls his eyes.  “Absolutely,” he replies humorlessly.  “I was the kind of bird that takes the rest of the birds to state championship and then turns down an offer to join a team of sharks.”  He turns to Lois and she still seems confused.  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, have you actually spent a lot of time in town?  ‘Crows’ is the name of Smallville High’s football team.  And you didn’t even catch the Metropolis Sharks reference?”

Lois’ response is classic drawn-out, “Oh…” then she turns towards the barn.  “Oh, my…”

Clark turns back to the barn and smiles proudly as his daughter comes back out, sitting majestically atop her equally majestic white Andalusian stallion with a white mane, a birthday present from her godfather, Oliver Queen. 

“Have fun, sweetie,” Clark tells his daughter as he hands her the shotgun.  One of the first things they taught that pony was to not be afraid of loud noises.  “That’s not a request.”

Joey laughs brightly.  “Come on, Ryan.  Let’s get away from the _old_ people.” 

Clark scowls, but Joey is already trotting away on her horse. 

“How the hell did you afford that pony?” asks Lois, still captivated by the animal. 

“We’ll talk about that, but first would you like to come in?”  He might as well indulge her since she made it all the way here.   

Lois smiles warmly.  “I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend asks for Clois fireworks. I give shotgun blasts. Cheers.


	6. Chapter Six

_I’d love to?_ Lois repeats to herself.  The man just shot at her.  Clearly not even that girl, Joey, was aware that it was a blank.  Even his daughter thought that he was going to murder her right there.  Lois had to have been thinking with her aching wrists and sunburnt shoulders. 

Still, here she is hopping towards that yellow house.  What’s going to happen when she walks in the door?  He could murder her!  He could chop her to pieces and feed her to his pigs!  Wait, does he even have pigs?  As far as she knows, this is an organic produce farm, not a swine farm.  Maybe he does have swine as well as dairy cattle.  He could knock her out and she would wake up in a hole in the ground!

His daughter, Joey, could not be a nice girl at all.  She could be a recruiter for her father who may be a serial killer, a rapist, or a slaver of some kind! 

What Lois really wants to do is turn around and run—or _hop_ —away home as fast as she can.  Even if she wasn’t so worn out and sore, she suspects that she would only be putting on a good show for this guy.  He’s so big; he could probably catch up to her at a walking pace.  He could call his daughter—assuming she has a phone with her—and she’d be chased down.

Still, Lois also really wants to sit down.  She’s a little dehydrated; her body demands a pitcher of water. 

As she hops towards the house, Joey’s father stands on the porch, leaning against the railing.  She has to admit, even with that unwelcome gaze in those blue eyes, he looks quite handsome.  The muscles of his upper body strain against that black V-neck T-shirt.  That somewhat gray five o’clock shadow fits his face perfectly.  All in all, Lois thinks the man looks like something off the cover of a farmer’s edition of a men’s fashion magazine.

She reaches the steps and stops.  It’s not many steps, but steps are kind of difficult when a cast goes all the way above your knee.  She stares up at Mr. Kent pitifully. 

“Do you want something?” he asks dryly.

“I don’t need anything from you, Mr. Whatever-Your-First-Name-Is Kent,” replies Lois, stubbornly.  With a deep breath, she lifts one of her crutches onto the first step.  Another deep breath and she lifts herself.  The added pressure sends fresh pain shooting through her wrists.  She loses her balance and falls backward. 

Before she hits the ground, however, she feels large, power arms catch her.  Looking up, she finds herself face to face with Mr. Kent.  “Well, aren’t you just a romantic?” she teases mockingly.  

Mr. Kent grumbles as he helps her to her feet and up the stairs.  “If you weren’t an invalid, I would have let you fall.”

“That’s not nice.”

Mr. Kent stops as they reach the top and stares at her.  “‘That’s not nice’?” he repeats.  “What are you, a kindergarten teacher?”

No, she has an eleven-year-old son who she (or mostly Lex, who has a longer temper most days) has been spending much time teaching how to be nice.  Mr. Kent doesn’t need to know that, lest she gives him a reason to antagonize her. 

Now that she’s on the porch, he lets go of her and opens the screen door for her.  “Ladies first,” he says. 

Cautiously, Lois steps into the house.  Considering the display outside, she thought she would step into some sort of pro-gun haven.  No, this place isn’t like that at all.  The door opens into a kitchen with a gas stove, no dishwasher, and a refrigerator that looks older than hers.  Almost all the walls on one side are covered in cabinets.  In the middle of the room is a small table with a few stools around it.  The other end of the kitchen opens up into a living room with a large couch facing a fireplace, or so Lois thinks based on where she is standing.

The place is also immaculately clean.  Are the Kent obsessively compulsive, or do they just take their housekeeping seriously? 

Mr. Kent walks into the living room and Lois follows after him.  As she does, she sees that the couch does indeed face a fireplace with a television set over it.  It’s a similar model as Lois’ TV, but it looks less out of place than hers does.  Then again, this house seems to include newer material while maintaining a passé atmosphere better than her new house does.     

Mr. Kent takes a seat on the couch and faces Lois.  He gestures towards an armchair.  With some difficulty, Lois manages to seat herself in it. 

“I have to say, you impress me, Mrs. Luthor,” says Mr. Kent after a few minutes.

“Ms. Lane, thank you,” Lois corrects him tightly.

“Both of your wrists are in casts and yet you hopped all the way here on those crutches,” Mr. Kent marvels, ignoring her.  “You must have considerable pain tolerance.”

“My dad is an Army general,” Lois explains.  At least he was until lung cancer from so many years of cigar-smoking forced him to retire.

“You must be thirsty.  Would you like a glass of water?”

“Yes, please,” replies Lois.  She hopes it’s not poisoned. 

Mr. Kent gets up and heads back into the kitchen.  “So, I hear you are in town looking for Superman.  How’s that working out for you?”

Lois tries to maintain her composure.  “Why do you ask?”

“No reason, I just find it curious that a supposedly upstanding reporter like you would bother with something so trivial,” replies Mr. Kent as he reappears with a tall glass of water.  He holds it out to her. 

Lois accepts the glass graciously and takes an appreciative sip.  It doesn’t taste poisonous.  “Why do you call it trivial?”

“When something hasn’t appeared in a major newspaper in several years now, it seems like a fitting word.”

Lois hates to say it, but the man has a point.  She takes her eyes off of him as something catches her eye.  It’s a photo of a woman.  The woman in the picture is…beautiful.  She looks like an older version of Joey.  This woman however has red-brown hair with bangs obscuring part of her eyes.  A tight-lipped smile is spread across her lips as she rests her chin on her shoulder. 

“Is that…?”

“My wife,” finished Mr. Kent, sounding far away.  “She was blonde, but she had a bit of a hair-dye phase for a few months.”

“I recognize that woman,” says Lois.  “Wait, is that Chloe Sullivan?”

“Yes,” replies Mr. Kent.

“Your wife was _the_ Chloe Sullivan?” asks Lois, turning her gaze back to him.

“Yes.”

“Which means you’re Clark Kent!” sums up Lois.  “Oh, my God, you’re Clark Kent!”

Mr.—no _Clark_ —Kent throws up his hands.  “Is that supposed to mean something?”

Lois shakes her head.  “You and Chloe Sullivan were legendary!  You two are famous at the Daily Planet!”  She can’t believe that she’s in the house of a three-time Pulitzer Prize-winning duo.  “People still talk about the two of you all the time.”

“Are you going to ask me to sign your casts?” asks Clark Kent.  “I’m retired; my wife is dead; I couldn’t care less about journalism anymore.”

Lois falters.  There’s nothing that she can really say to that without sounding disrespectful or insensitive.  However, she does think that it’s a tremendous loss to the world of journalism.  Wait…  “Hold on, you were the one that wrote ‘Why the World Doesn’t Need Superman’.”

Clark Kent shrugs.  “It won me a Pulitzer and it was the last article I ever wrote.  After my wife died, I just lost inspiration.”

Lois thought about all the things she would do if she met the guy who wrote that article.  She read it several times.  He did bring up valid points, such as city taxes going way down as a result of Superman’s disappearance.  Metropolis has indeed become a better place for taxpayers, as well as the city’s maintenance budget in the absence of the Man of Steel.  She’s afraid to ask, but she wonders if his wife died because Superman couldn’t save her, or if she was an unfortunate bystander during one of Superman’s more destructive battles.

She never thought she would feel sorry for him.  She’s also going to have to keep herself from digging into how his wife died.

“So why are you keen on finding Superman?” Clark Kent asks eventually.  “What do you think you’ll find?  What score is so great that it needs to be settled by hunting down a superhero no one has seen or heard from in so long?”

Lois smirks.  “You may not be a reporter anymore, but you sure do sound like one.” The comment does not have the desired effect from the man.  He just sits there, drumming his fingers on the armrest.  “And it’s none of your business.”

“You’ve hired my daughter as a chauffeur,” Clark reminds her.  “You’ve made it my business.”

Lois gulps.  “You wouldn’t understand.”

Clark raises his eyebrows.  “You’re right.  I don’t understand how you could do what you did and hang out with my daughter.”

Lois fights back the tears gathering in her eyes.  If she wasn’t in casts, she would punch him.  “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

Clark nods his agreement.  “No I do not.  I do know that you went to heroic lengths to keep what happened with your first DUI earlier this year out of the papers.  I still have friends at the Daily Planet.”  He smirks.  “You know what I think?”

“What?” Lois growls.

“I think that you are just a sad, desperate, and broken woman who doesn’t know how to channel her guilt,” explains Clark with no emotion.  “So instead of facing it, you bury it so deep, distracting yourself with unimportant things like hunting down a superhero just to say that you found him and made a story out of it.  You’re a coward, Lois Lane.  You hunt down stories when you should be figuring out how to make amends with your family.  Being a mother, I would have thought that your family was more important to you than a story, but I guess not.

“I quit being a reporter so that I could focus on being a father.  And what do you do?  You get yourself into this mess.”

Lois fights the urge to look down at herself.  He’s absolutely right on all points and she hates him for it.  How could such a sweet girl have such a horrid father? 

Perhaps it’s something that might prove to be a bonding experience for her, but Lois doesn’t consider herself a sweet girl. 

“Get out of my house and stay away from my daughter,” orders Clark. 

“Are you going to drive me home?” 

“You hopped here, you can hop back.”

Lois downs her glass of water, grabs her crutches, and rises to her feet.  Without looking at Clark, she hops out of the house. 

She’s about ten feet away from side of the barn farthest from the house before her tears break loose.  That man is impossible!  How can he just invite her into his house just to tell her off like that?  Who does he think he is? 

It’s not long before Lois’ tears are of physical pain as well as emotional.  Her wrists hurt; her shoulders hurt; her mouth is dry again; none of it is close to what Lois feels she deserves.  Soon, she hears hoof beats behind her. 

“Lois?” asks Joey as she falls into step beside her atop her horse.  “What happened?  Why are you leaving so soon?”

Lois stops in her tracks and gazes mournfully up at the young woman.  Her kindness may seem naïve, in the wiser part of Lois’ mind, but it’s also beautiful.  Lois hopes that she never loses that sense of kindness.  “Joey, you’re probably the only person who has been nothing but nice to me since I got into this town.  Your father says I should stay away from you.  I think it’s better for both of us, if you just leave me alone.”

Joey’s reaction breaks Lois’ heart.  If Lois thought she saw loneliness in those eyes before, they are now as clear as a summertime sunset.  She bows her head softly.  “Well, can I at least help you get home?  I think you’ve been on your feet long enough for one day.”

Even Clark can’t get angry over this offer.  “How do you plan on doing that?” asks Lois, unconvinced. 

Joey smiles brightly as she dismounts her horse.  Then Lois finds herself thoroughly impressed as the young lady grabs her by the waist and gently hoists her up onto the horse.  _Damn, that girl is strong_ , Lois marvels silently.  “What’re you going to do?”

Joey smiles up at her as she grabs the reigns.  “I could use a good walk.”  She turns around and starts leading the horse along the side of the road. 

It’s a silent trip, but Lois finds herself enjoying the company.  She even finds a rhythm in the _clip-clop_ of the horse’s—or Ryan’s—hooves.  She’s not sure how the horse feels about a stranger on his back, but he sure is well-behaved. 

Eventually they make it back to her house and Joey helps her inside.  Without exchanging long goodbyes, Joey leaves.  Lois watches from the window until the blonde disappears on her horse. 

Clark Kent might have told her to stay away from his daughter, but he must see how lonely she is.  Somehow, she’s going to have to convince the man that she is capable of being a healthy presence in that girl’s life. 

Lois has a lot of work to do. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The picture I described can be found here
> 
> http://smallville.wikia.com/wiki/Allison_Mack
> 
> (The photo at the top of the page)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little glimpse into the head of Clark's little girl.

Joey sits with her laptop.  She has spent all afternoon up in her fortress of solitude.  Well, okay, not _the_ Fortress of Solitude.  The first time she went there was for her mother’s funeral.  There’s a headstone with her name on it in Smallville cemetery, but her body was put in some sort of crystal sarcophagus in the Fortress.  Joey didn’t revisit the Fortress until a couple of years ago.  It was hard seeing her mother encased in crystal.  Wearing a white funereal gown with her hands upon her chest and a peaceful look upon her face, she had looked like she had died the day before. 

Joey could say that Kryptonian methods of preservation work a whole lot better than that of Ancient Egyptians.  She remembers reintroducing herself to her bodiless biological grandfather clearly.

_“Welcome, Joanna,” boomed the voice._

_Thirteen-year-old Joey, bundled to the teeth with a parka, thermal underwear underneath her jeans, snow boots, mittens, a hat, and scarf, jumped.  “Who’s there?” she asked fearfully.  She doesn’t know why she came here.  It was like something was just calling to her and she grabbed her dad’s octagonal key thing, dressed as warmly as possible, and went to the Kawatche caves._

_Using it in that hidden room, she found herself in a place surrounded by ice and crystal.  The first thing that she noticed was the shrine surrounding the intricately crafted crystal…coffin wherein her mother laid.  It wasn’t long before the tears came.  That was when she heard the voice._

_“There’s no need to be frightened, my child,” the voice reassured, sounding a lot more compassionate than her dad always made it out to be.  “I am your grandfather, Jor-El.  This is your Fortress of Solitude.  I have been waiting a long time to meet you.”_

Oh, okay _, Joey thought, unsure of what to think.  She gazed at her mother again; feeling like a scab was being reopened.  “I don’t like it here,” she confessed sadly.  “It’s cold; I want to go home.”_

_Then, strangely, she felt everything start to warm up around her.  It became so warm, in fact, that Joey started to feel heavily overdressed.  She started shedding her outer clothing, eventually leaving only her jeans and T-shirt.  She felt a little uncomfortable about removing her pants so that she can take off the thermal underwear.  She left them on._

_“You are part-human; it seems that you are not as tolerant to the cold as your father is,” the voice—Jor-El observed, sounding thoughtful._

_“Are you going to tell me that I’m weak for being sad about my mom?” asked Joey.  Her father always said how her grandfather was a bit…intolerant of “human-learned emotions.”_

_“Your mother was strong in life; she loved you and your father more than life itself and she was fearless,” said Jor-El.  His voice was as emotionless as the voice on her cellphone, but Joey could swear she heard some sadness in those words.  “You have every right to mourn her loss.”_

_Joey cried freely now, sinking down onto a piece of ice that felt strangely comfortable.  “Why am I here?  What is this place really?  Daddy always seems to think that you are disappointed in me, like I didn’t turn out the way you would have liked.”_

_“Disappointed?” repeated Jor-El.  “You are living proof that the Kryptonian species can live on.  Your father spent a long time fearing his chances to reproduce.  You are a miracle.  I could never be disappointed.”_

_“Is that why I’m here?” asked Joey, mirthlessly.  “So that you can experiment on me?  See where my Kryptonian and human genes win out?”_

_Jor-El takes a long time before he responds.  “I do wish to study you,” he confessed.  “Are you telling me that you yourself don’t wonder how your genes are balanced?”_

_Joey thought about that for a minute.  Her silence must have been a good enough answer for the bodiless voice._

_“You are my granddaughter; if there comes a point when I am making you feel uncomfortable, please feel free to tell me,” Jor-El tells her.  “This place is meant to be a sanctuary as well as a classroom of sorts.  Now, go home.  I do hope to know you better, but I don’t want this Fortress to be a place of sadness for you.”_

_Joey realized she was smiling.  His compassion was nothing like her father always described.  She did suppose that she could distance herself from this part of the Fortress that she was in.  She gathered her clothes and headed towards the exit._

_“Jor-El?” she asked._

_“Yes, Joanna?”_

_She blushed furiously, looking down at her feet.  “May I call you ‘Grandpa’?”_

_By the warmth that suddenly surrounded her, she wondered if the A.I. was smiling.  “Yes, darling.”_

 

Joey’s visits to that fortress have been few and far between since then.  Two years and so far she has managed to visit the place without her father knowing.  He would be furious.  She and her grandfather have grown quite close—she’s even started calling him “Gramps.”  She wouldn’t be surprised if her father suspected that she had been brainwashed. 

The thought puts a smile on her face. 

However, when she’s not going to _that_ Fortress of Solitude, the loft inside the barn is a great substitute.  Her parents always talked about how the loft was a place where they spent much of their time growing up.  It has occurred to her, disturbingly, that she might have been conceived up here.  Still, as she grew, the place steadily became hers.

She’s added a pool table that her godfather, Oliver bought for her.  Her father got her interested in stargazing and as of two years ago, she has a much more powerful telescope.  In recent development, telescopes have been given the ability to see passed all of Earth’s atmospheric gas.  It’s not quite the same view as from space, but it’s still spectacular in Joey’s opinion.

The couch Joey sits on is an overstuffed blue couch that her Grandma Martha bought for them at an IKEA.  The desk is still the same, but Joey added a nicer swivel chair.  Also, being a bit of a reader, Joey has more books than she knows what to do with.  Added to her parents’ books, every wall on this loft is covered in bookshelves her father made.  Her parents were a mess in terms of their books.  Joey is the one who keeps the books in alphabetical order. 

Joey is also a bit of a gamer, but her father won’t let her put a television set in the loft.  She considers herself lucky that he even allows her to have a power strip.  Right now, all she has hooked up to it is her laptop.

Mostly, Joey would like to think that much of the loft is the same save for the red couch.

The old red couch eventually needed to be completely replaced.  Joey still feels awful whenever she thinks about the power outburst that saw her run straight through that couch.  She must have been six years old and she ran and ran.  It’s one of her earliest memories and she remembers wondering why everything was zooming past her the way it was.  Her dad told her that in the space of ten minutes she ran all the way from Smallville to some place twenty miles outside of Vancouver.

Her own father had trouble catching up to her.  She remembers her mother teasing that he was old.  He easily pouted whenever her mother teased him.  Joey loves her father, but he’s been becoming less expressive with each passing year. 

Right now, she could really use his help.  It will be hard enough convincing whoever is running the Torch to let her write for it, but why bother if she can’t even figure out what to write? 

She closes her laptop and puts her face in her hands, grumbling.  When she lifts her face, her eyes fall on a photo of her parents.  It’s one of their wedding photos.  Her mother looked so beautiful with her bob of hair coifed and wearing that white slip with a plunging neckline and ruffled straps. 

She studies the photo thoughtfully.  Like her mother, she has freckles “in all the right places” as her godmother, Tess, describes.  Well, Joey has freckles, but not in the exact same places as her mother.  She has a couple of freckles on her right cheek as well as some on her shoulders and chest, but she doesn’t see herself as beautiful as her mother.

Apparently not even as talented. 

“How did you do it, Mom?” Joey asked the photo hopelessly.  Her mother never seemed to run out of stories for a newspaper.  Joey has some sleuthing skills, but when it comes to actually sitting down and making a story out of her findings, her mind becomes blank.  She hates herself for it, even to the point that she’s afraid of sharing it with her father.  When she does manage to write, she finds herself taking what she sees in the world and writing poetry and fiction out of it. 

She’s only shared her love of fiction and poetry with three people in her life—her grandmother and godparents.  Her grandmother, ever the moral support, told her that if it’s what she loves doing, she should nurture it, not bury it.  Her godmother keeps collection of what she has written.

She can’t seem to write what her parents are revered for writing and it just makes her want scourge herself with kryptonite.  It doesn’t affect her as severely as her father, but prolonged exposure leaves her a bit nauseated. 

“Screw it,” she mutters.  She sets down the laptop and rises from the couch.  She walks over to a corner close to the open window.  When she reaches the window, she takes a moment to bask in the evening glow.  She loves it here.  Much of the farmland around her is now government-owned due to descendants of farm owners not wanting the farms they inherited, opting to sell it for a few hundred thousand dollars. 

Not her father.  He might have considered selling the house once, but it was her mother that convinced him to keep it.  Personally, Joey wonders if it was simply because he thought that a secluded farm would be a safer place to raise a child with Kryptonian genes.  Over the years, a number of people have approached them with all kinds of offers to buy the farm. 

Joey distinctly remembers him chasing them off with his shotgun.  He’s a fully powered Kryptonian; Joey doesn’t understand why he chooses to opt for such a mundane weapon.  It does entertain her, if she will be honest.  The one time it didn’t was when Lois Lane hopped all the way over here. 

Joey likes that woman.  She doesn’t know why, but she does.  It may be some sort of personal obligation because she nearly killed her, but Joey does feel like that Ms. Lane could use a friend.  So far, she hasn’t worked up the courage to defy her father and go by her house.  Her father might stop her before she got past their property line.

Right now, her father is busy making them dinner.  He’s cooking up chili.  Joey does love her father’s cooking.  Her grandmother taught him well.  They also share a mutual dislike for sweet chili.  For them, chili isn’t meant to be sweet; it’s meant to be spicy.  Also, they can’t have chili without tortilla chips. 

She already offered to help him and he said no.  If she can’t fill up that time with writing an article, there is something else she could do.  Stepping away from the sunshine, Joey grabs what she walked over here for.  About three years ago, she was in town for a flea market.  Some man was selling his acoustic guitar.  Joey spent her whole allowance on it.

It wasn’t pretty when she started playing it.  She kept breaking the strings.  Her father told her that he too tried to learn guitar once and he suffered the same problem.  Joey’s glad he told her that.  It filled her with determination.  Using what she learned from her piano lessons, she taught herself to play the guitar.  Eventually, she not only managed to play without breaking the strings, she started learning songs and music theory.  She still plays piano and occasionally, her father pays someone to tune the upright piano in their living room, but depending on the day, she prefers the guitar.  Today is one of those days. 

Eventually, she would like to buy a new guitar, but she doesn’t have the money right now.  Her beat-up acoustic guitar works just fine for now.  Having learned to tune by ear, she uses the tuner only to make sure her lowest string is in tune.  She tunes it to a _D_.  Starting from there, she tunes her guitar to that Celtic tuning everyone calls “DADGAD”.

She likes the folksy tone of it.  With a deep breath, she begins playing a soft, finger-picked melody. 

_Over the hills and far away_

_There was a farmer with a heart of grey_

_With a daughter that loved to play_

_Screaming silent passions that come a’play_

It was a scribble that she wrote in her journal recently and so far she can’t seem to find the words for another verse as her melody progresses into a chord-based solo. 

“Joey, dinner’s ready!” her father informs her from the entrance to the barn.  The sudden information causes Joey to strike a discordant note. 

“And her father spoils her passion with a most untimely fashion,” Joey adds to her song sarcastically.  She puts away her guitar and leaves the barn.    


	8. Chapter Eight

Joey’s alarm buzzes.  It’s six o’clock and it’s time for her to get ready for school.  Technically, she’s been up since four-thirty.  In that hour-and-a-half timeframe, she managed to get all of her morning chores finished.  Even though she could have gone faster, therefore getting even more done, her father insisted she work at a humanly pace.  He claims that it builds character.

That’s not to say that he prohibits her from using her abilities altogether.  He lets her use her strength—at this point, she can lift the equivalent of an Arleigh-Burke class destroyer—for practical things in lieu of using a hammer, but to a point. 

On average, she uses her abilities more than he does.  She wrote in her diary once that he might as well be on blue kryptonite without actually being on blue kryptonite.  She wishes someone would shed more light on the matter, but it seems to her that he has always had a sense of self-loathing, especially when it came to his abilities. 

What’s there to hate about them?  He can literally touch the stars!  Joey stops for a minute.  Okay, maybe not literally.  Both her parents always made sure she used that word properly, instead of using it as a filler word.  Would Smallville be as hot as an oven if on a hot summer day someone said, “It’s literally as hot as an oven today”?

She doesn’t spend much time thinking too hard.  She finished her morning chores.  That’s all that matters.  She milked the cows, mucked the stables, and collected eggs from the chicken coop.  She could get more done with time to spare if her father would just let her burst into fit of superspeed or take full advantage of her strength!  Mucking stables?  She could dig a small replica of the Western Front in half a day’s time without breaking a sweat! 

Although, it doesn’t take as long for her as it does her father before she wears herself out.  So far, he hasn’t let her see just how far and long she can go before she sinks to her knees to catch her breath. 

She takes off her work boots and puts them on the shoe rack in the barn.  Ryan nickers. 

She looks up at her beautiful horse in his stable.  She smiles up at the white Andalusian. 

“I’m starting high school today, buddy,” she informs him.  “Wish me luck.”

Ryan snorts and shakes his head. 

Joey glares at him.  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy.”  She rolls her eyes and heads back to the house.  She takes her time as she heads downstairs and starts the other part of her morning ritual. 

Sometime before and after she was born, her dad built a basement complete with a full bathroom below the house.  Amazingly, he managed to build it while keeping the overall stability of the house intact.  The bedroom her grandparents used to sleep in was converted into a nursery for a while before acting as a real bedroom for Joey.  Eventually, she grew tired of that room and moved her bedroom to the basement when she was ten. 

Before that, the basement didn’t really have much use.  Sometimes, Joey wonders if her father did indeed intend for it to be a third bedroom in case he and her mother had a second child.  Depending on the day, sometimes she thinks she would have liked having a little brother or sister. 

After a quick shower in her basement bathroom, she shaves her armpits.  There was a question as to when this part of puberty would come about.  He didn’t start shaving until he was sixteen.  She’s fifteen and is already having to deal with body hair. 

The solution came in two different ways.  Her godfather, Oliver, acquired a cache of blue kryptonite and started making razor blades out of it.  They tend to last a lot longer than typical razor blades. Her father shaves with them.  Joey, on the other hand, didn’t like the uncomfortable razor burns that she tended to get when she started using those.  She went to the Fortress.  The crystals she managed to make into razor blades are a lot more comfortable than the blue kryptonite blades.

When she finishes, she heads out of the bathroom.  She has a pretty big bedroom.  Her dad never got rid of her grandparents’ bed, so she gets to enjoy having a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room.  He might not let her put a television set in the barn, but he does let her have her own TV in her bedroom.  The thirty-inch TV sits atop her dresser at the foot of the bed.  Some days, she swings the chair at her vanity table around and uses that instead of sitting on her bed all the time.

She still laughs whenever she thinks about her dad getting her that vanity table.  She does use it, but he should have known that that was the last thing she ever would have wanted.  Sure, she has seen firsthand how little he really knows about girls, but shouldn’t he know _her_ better?

It’s going to be a hot day, so Joey doesn’t opt for anything too warm.  She selects a grey flannel and light blue jeans to wear with her buckled riding boots.  Using the mirror on her vanity table, she brushes her hair until it shines like gold.  She’s not in the mood to crimp or style it in any way today.

As she finishes up, she grabs her single-strap backpack and heads upstairs.  Her nose is immediately welcomed by the smell of breakfast.  She checks her watch.  It’s six-thirty; school starts in an hour. 

“Morning, sweetie,” her dad wishes. 

“Morning Daddy,” replies Joey.  He made pancakes and sausages.  She sets down her backpack and takes a seat in the kitchen as her father sets a plate piled high with pancakes in front of her.  “I can serve myself, you know,” she reminds him, though a smile is on her face.

“That’s what I used to tell your grandmother all the time,” her father counters. 

Joey squints up at him as she pours herself a glass of orange juice.  “Isn’t Grandma also the same woman who described you as ‘fast as lightning and slow as molasses at the same time’?”  She braces herself as her father scowls at her for a minute.

Soon a smile spreads across his face though.  “You do prioritize yourself better than I ever did, that’s for sure.”

 _It’s not as if I had anyone around to teach me_ , Joey says wordlessly.  Her father can hear when she mutters, but thank God he can’t read her thoughts.  She has to monitor her snarky attitude.  Most people around her say nothing of it, but it angers her father.  Does it upset him because it genuinely annoys him or because it reminds him too much of her mother? 

She might never know.

“Are you excited about starting high school, baby?” asks her father.

Joey muffles an “I don’t know” between mouthfuls of pancake.  When she swallows, she says, “School is school; this time we’re in a different building, the guys have deeper voices and the girls have fuller boobs.”

“ _Joanna_ ,” her father warns. 

“Breasts, Daddy,” she corrects herself.  Her father hates the word _boobs_.  She sighs heavily.  “I don’t know, Daddy.  I’ve seen enough movies and TV shows, read enough books, that it all seems overly glamorized.  Did you have a great time in high school?  Of all the girls you graduated with, how many of them were pregnant at the ceremony?  How many of your classmates actually even lived to see graduation?  And didn’t you spend half of high school moaning and whining about Lana Lang?

“At least you and mom had crushes to whine about throughout high school.”

Her dad sighs heavily as he takes a seat across from her.  “Honey, you’re right.  If there is one thing that most forms of entertainment will never show is how truly ugly high school can be.  I felt like a loser and an outsider even when I was the starting quarterback.  I wasted so much time with Lana Lang.  Of all the classmates who died, most of them were all meteor freaks that went off the deep end.  And graduation was so chaotic with the second meteor shower that I really didn’t pay attention to how many of my classmates were pregnant.”

 _Amazing_ , Joey thinks.  He managed to leave out anything about her mother.   She checks her watch.  A Michael Kors watch Oliver gave her for her last birthday.  She usually doesn’t wear anything too gaudy, but for some reason she makes an exception for her watch.  It’s a chronograph white crystal stainless steel diamond watch.  As far as the diamonds go, they just encircle the clock face. 

She doesn’t wear it while working on the farm, but what’s the harm in wearing it to school on her first day?  In fact, Oliver bought her two watches—the Michael Kors watch and a more practical Timex diver’s watch with a chrome elastic band.  The latter she thinks she will be wearing more often, saving her Michael Kors for special occasions. 

She’s wasted enough time admiring her watch.  It’s time to leave.  “Okay, I have to go, Daddy.”  She finishes up her breakfast, grabs her backpack and the lunch that her dad made for her, and finally her biker’s jacket and the keys to her motorcycle.  A blur of movement and her father’s hand is pressed against the hand holding the keys. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” her father asks sternly.

She gapes up at him.  “I’m heading off to school,” she replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Not on that motorcycle, you’re not.”

“What!” Joey exclaims.  “Why not?” she’s spent hours learning to drive and has become awesome at it—at least that’s the word Oliver used.  She has passed all the requirements.  Her midnight blue 2019 Harley Davidson Road King Special with custom whitewall tires needs to be ridden!

“You’re fifteen; you don’t have a license yet, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want me riding alongside you when you go to and from school,” her father explains.  “ _You are taking the bus_.  And you better hurry; I hear it and it’ll be here in five minutes.”

Joey grumbles.  “Can I still wear the jacket?”

“Isn’t it kind of moot since you aren’t riding your bike?” asks her father.  “It’s going to be a hot day and your body isn’t as indifferent to hot and cold as mine is.  It looks great on you, but I’d recommend taking it off.”

Joey rolls her eyes and sheds her jacket.  “You know I could ride my bike wearing a bikini and I’d be safer than some guy wearing a twelve-hundred-dollar helmet.”

Her father whimpers slightly.  “You don’t even like to wear bikinis.”

Actually she tried them for the first time during the past summer when she visited Oliver for three weeks.  She went to the beach with him and Tess and she had forgotten her one-piece at home.  Tess took her shopping.  She actually liked the black two-piece Tess helped her pick out.  It probably helped that their son, Bobby, was away for the whole summer. 

He had been a bad boy.  Bad enough that not even a summer working on the Kent Farm would fix it.  He had landed himself in legal trouble, having a party at the house where someone had an allergic reaction to peanut butter, resulting in having to call the paramedics.  Naturally, the police came along to and confiscated all the booze.  Bobby spent the summer in juvenile detention.

Joey smiles forcefully.  “Yeah, I was just exaggerating.” 

“The bus is coming, high schooler,” her father reminds her. 

Joey kisses her father’s cheek and bursts into superspeed.  She makes it to the curb just as the bus arrives.  The bus some to a stop and she boards the bus.  As she boards it, her ears are welcomed with a cacophony of overlapping chatter.  Her ears grow more sensitive each year, but she doesn’t quite have _superhearing_.

Eventually she finds herself a seat.  At least it wasn’t as if her presence caused a collective silence. 

A few stops follow; no one takes seat next to her.  The last person who the bus picks up appears next to her.  She lifts her gaze from her copy of Rilke’s poetry.

“ _Are you still here?”_ she recites in German.

“ _Are you standing in some corner?—_

_You knew so much of all this, you were able_

_to do so much; you passed through life so open_

_to all things, like an early morning.  I know:_

_women suffer; for love means being alone;_

_and artists in their work sometimes intuit_

_that they must keep from transforming, where they love._ ”

It’s a passage from _Requiem_ , one of her favorite works by Rilke.  It’s bleak and reciting the English side of the page, despite the translator’s effort to retain the poet’s flow, just doesn’t feel as beautiful.  She feels that too often is the German language dismissed as being harsh and angry-sounding.  Maybe people watch too many movies about the Second World War, or they listen to Rammstein.

They must never have read the poetry.

The guy walks away slowly.  Joey wonders if thinks that she can’t even speak English.  She learned English from birth; Kryptonian from her grandfather; Russian from Oliver; German she has taught herself from selected texts and poetry.  Maybe she is a bit precocious. 

Eventually, the bus comes to one last stop.  She puts away her book of poetry and observes the school thoughtfully.  The building was completely torn down over the summer and rebuilt.  It’s a completely different building.  In the front lawn, there is still a pile of rubble that needs to be cleaned up  Even the parking lots have been repaved and the football stadium has been redecorated with the school colors of red and yellow.

Joey can only imagine her mother returning to this school and wondering where the hell the Torch office is.  Actually, the seniors, juniors, and sophomores will be in need of a tour as well as the freshman.  Wait wasn’t there an orientation last week?  She totally missed it!

No matter.  She will find her way around.  She joins the rest of the students filing out of the bus.  As she does, it doesn’t take long for her to notice that a few—actually more than a few—eyes are turning her way.  She tries not to show just how self-conscious it makes her.  Sure, she’s been told by a number of people that she’s growing up into a lovely young woman, but almost all of that praise has come from the adults in her life.  Even her grandfather, Jor-El, told her that she looks lovely and he’s an A.I.

The one person who hasn’t said it very often, unless she asks, is her father.  She thinks she would have felt better if he was embarrassing her all the time by bragging about her.  Oliver brags about her.  Grandma Martha calls her beautiful all the time.  Tess even once said that she ought to be on _Project Runway_ as a model. 

Joey’s not that assertive about her looks. 

Just about the only people not giving her some sort of puppy-dog eyes is the girls.

“First day of school and the girls look at me like I stole their boyfriends and girlfriends,” she mutters, not too quietly.  She enters the school and checks her watch again.  There’s still about twenty-five minutes before the first bell.  She finds a school map and pinpoints the location of the Torch office.  Once she finds it, she heads through the hallways until she finds it. 

When she does, she sees that it’s already occupied.  A lone girl, probably a junior sits at a transparent computer screen.  Joey takes a look around and sees that the place is heavily modernized.  There are no file cabinets.  Instead, there is a smaller cabinet like the ones Joey has seen used for junk drives and SD cards. 

“Is there a single piece of paper in here?” she asks. 

The junior looks up from her computer screen.  The girl is a brunette with her hair slung around her shoulder in a French braid.  Her skin looks like a sun-tan taken too far.  She fixes her brown eyes on Joey.  “We don’t murder trees, bookworm.”

Joey shrugs.  “At least my books don’t have to be plugged into the wall every now and then.  Plus, teachers don’t have to worry about me hacking through firewalls just so that I can access social media during a boring lecture.”

The girl smirks.  “Touché.  What’s your name?”

“Joey Kent,” replies Joey.

The girl raises her eyebrows.  “ _You_ are Chloe Sullivan’s daughter?”

Joey frowns.  “Yeah, what of it?”

The girl studies her for a minute.  “You’re not really journalistically inclined, are you?”

Joey tries to maintain her composure.  She’s a poet, not journalist.  She takes what she sees in the world and shares it through rhyme and imagery.  “No, not really.”

The girl nods slowly.  “Your parents must be really disappointed.  Sorry, freshman, journalists only in here.”

Joey stares for a minute as the girl returns to whatever she is typing.  “Good riddance, bitch.”  Sad thing is, she wonders if she’s right. 

Would her parents be disappointed?     


	9. Chapter Nine

Lois inhales sharply.

“Take it slowly, Ms. Luthor,” says the doctor.  “Your wrists have been in cast for several weeks.  They are going to feel a bit stiff.”

“Ms. _Lane_ ,” Lois corrects her dejectedly.  Seriously, how hard is it for people to start calling her by her maiden name?  She’s Lois Lane, goddammit!  She’s divorced.  The more she hears her former married name, the more it feels like a badge of shame. 

She has more happy memories with Lex and Lachlan than she cares to admit.  If the bad years actually outweighed the good years, moving on would be a lot easier.  While she didn’t always like the name attached to hers, for a long time, being attached to the hip of Lex Luthor—or rather _him_ being attached to _her_ hip—was something she was proud of.  When she became a mother, that sense of pride only intensified.

All the mistakes she has made, she has had time in the last month or so to reflect.  Would she still be married to Lex if it wasn’t for a few of her mishaps?  Would there have been something else that ultimately drove them apart?  A part of her will always cherish the memories she has with him, but for some reason it just felt like something was pulling them apart? 

Why?

They had a life together.  Both of them adored their son as much as they adored each other.  They had more than a few misadventures together.  It was Lex who convinced her to cease her political career and nurture her true passion—journalism. 

Does she wish they were still together because she truly still loves Lex?  Or is it because it would have been better for Lachlan’s sake?  Some days she thinks it’s the former.  Other days, she feels it’s the latter.  Either way, she feels that life has been incredibly unfair to her and she’s still paying the price. 

She spent weeks doing nothing, ordering Chinese delivery and pizza, as she forced herself to remain inactive so that her wounds could heal properly.  She thought she had a helper at one point in the form of that girl, Joey Kent, but her father made it very clear that they weren’t to see each other. 

So far, it seems, Joey has been a good girl. 

There’s another thing that irks Lois.  Joey Kent and her father just irritate her on a strange level.  Her gut tells her that there’s more to them than they are both letting on.  Joey’s father—Clark, was it?—seems to have some sort of deep rooted beef with Superman.  Lois has reread the man’s Pulitzer-winning article, “Why the World Doesn’t Need Superman” several times.  She can’t argue with a number of his points, but reading between the lines, she saw a sense of anger, if not sadness in the man’s writing. 

Is Superman directly responsible for the death of his wife?  Was she a casualty of one of Superman’s unintended mayhem from a fight with one of his enemies?  Even Lois has to admit, Superman could do some serious damage that could put some of Batman’s enemies to shame. 

Lois does have an interesting relationship with Batman.  Her theory is that he and Bruce Wayne are one and the same, but she has no evidence to prove it.  At least, she doesn’t have any evidence that she has been able to keep her hands on. 

She and Lex used to joke that Batman seems like a man who could use some serious psychological therapy.  Batman in a group therapy session would make Lois’ day.  Not that she genuinely cares—she barely knows either him or Bruce Wayne very well—but the idea just makes her want to laugh. 

Then there’s Joey.  She’s just a girl.  Clark Kent is one thing, but shouldn’t Lois’ moral code keep her from investigating a teenage girl?  She seems like any other young woman who, sadly, seems to have trouble making friends.  Lois is a middle-aged woman dealing with a midlife crisis—or rather crises—so why should she waste time trying to at least be a friend to this girl?  It’s not a bad thing; what make it bad are Lois’ ulterior motives. 

Perhaps Clark Kent was right in demanding she stay away. 

Lois wasn’t completely alone while lying on the couch, playing videogames and watching Bruce Willis movies.  It seems the only friend she currently has is Jimmy Olsen.  He has certainly progressed in life.  He’s working for Cat Grant in National City.

He jokes that Cat likes to think that she owns him, but she doesn’t.  Cat might have gone off from the Daily Planet and started her own magazine, but Jimmy is known worldwide for getting the first clear photograph of Superman.  Well, he didn’t get his face; it was more of a flyby with the same quality as a passing stunt plane.  

Lois is happy for her little friend.  She never thought she would hear him say it, but he has girl troubles.  He likes this girl, Kara, a personal assistant to Cat Grant.  They have been on a date or two, but with the arrival of his ex-girlfriend, Lois’ own sister Lucy, things have gotten a bit complicated.  Maybe Lucy grew a brain and realized she lost herself a great guy. 

Lois wanted to punch her little sister for breaking her best friend’s heart.  And now she’s in National City, home of Supergirl, claiming she wants to make up? 

From all the things he says about Kara, even showing her some pictures, Lois thinks she sounds like a nice girl.  Based on the photos, she’s also quite attractive.  Tall, blonde, razor-sharp cheekbones, Lois almost wanted to say that she was out of Jimmy’s league.  They like each other.  That’s important, right? 

Lois would very much like to tell her little sister that she ought to just find herself another man elsewhere. She broke up with Jimmy and now she’s pulling the age-old classic, “I made a mistake.  I want to get back together.”

When this doctor’s checkup came up, Lois wasn’t as excited for it as she thought she would be.  She’s grateful to be getting at least the casts on her wrists off, but it doesn’t make her feel all that better.  What she wants is to be on _both_ her feet again. She wants her job at the Daily Planet back.  She wants her husband and son back!  She wants to get out of this stupid town!

The sooner she can get her story about Superman, the sooner she can—hopefully—get her life back on track.  One of the things that she loves about Jimmy, besides his unwavering optimism, is that he’s also frank with her.

One thing that he’s right about it, in a moment of voicing her cynicism, is that it’s going to take a lot more than a silly article about a superhero in blue pajamas to get her life back on track.  She certainly can’t get things back to the way they were, so she’s going to have to find a way to make amends to the people she’s wronged in her life while also starting a new chapter in her life.

“Can I use my hands very much?” Lois asks the doctor, flexing her hands.  She repeats the motions she used while recovering, but it does feel a little sore.  Her fractures are healed, but now that her wrists are suddenly free to move…it hurts a little.

“Yes, but I would strongly recommend you take any sort of heavy lifting very slow,” replies the doctor.

Lois grumbles.  “You make it sound like I just gave blood.”  She considers it a noble cause—she and Lex once ran a week-long blood drive for charity—but she can’t stand the thought of a narrow tube being stuck in her arm. 

The doctor scoffs.  “I’m not sure you’d be eligible to give blood anyway.”  She scribbles a few more things on her clipboard.  “Okay, Ms. Luthor, we’re done here.  Stay off that leg, and I can guarantee that you’ll get that cast off next time you visit.”

Lois’ excitement over being free of all her casts overshadows her discomfort with her former married name.  One of the most exciting prospects is finally having an opportunity to drive that GTO.  The doctor helps her to her feet.  She feels like an old woman, moaning and groaning at the pressure put on her legs.  The doctor then hands the crutches to her.

Lois grabs them and places them under her shoulders.  In her boredom, she named her crutches Jackass and Bitchy.  Feeling like a prisoner in her own injuries, she had been marking tally marks with a sharpie on both crutches.  What she does know is that when she finally has use of both her legs, there is going to be a bonfire, where she will burn them. 

As she leaves the medical center, once again, she’s reminded how nice it would be to have someone driving her around on a regular basis.  It’s the beginning of October.  Naturally, somebody like Joey Kent would be mostly unavailable.  She’s a farm girl and a high school student; driving Lois around whenever she wants might be overfilling her plate. 

At least she was able to call an Uber.  When she heads out, it’s not long before she spots her ride.  This Uber has an Escalade.  She’s not a huge fan of SUVs, but it is nice having plenty of room to proper up her leg.  The Uber is also, for some reason, a little handsome.  He also looks at least fifteen years her junior.  She’s not a cougar. 

When she gets herself into the back seat, she’s not ready to go home just yet.  She wants coffee.  As the Uber drives, Lois doesn’t make much of an effort to make conversation.  When the Uber arrives in town, he parks about a block away from the Talon.  It doesn’t take Lois long to see the reason for his not parking closer. 

It must be homecoming week.  Lois wouldn’t compare it to _Friday Night Lights_ , which she somehow managed to get Lex to binge-watch with her, but Smallville does seem to enjoy its high school football. 

In the last few weeks when she found herself searching for reading material, she discovered the school newspaper.  Naturally, it’s only available to students, but Lois did get her hands on the town’s newspaper.  Now that she thinks of it, when she was just focusing on the crossword puzzles, she saw something about Smallville High’s homecoming week. 

The writer has some positive things to say about it.  Even Lois found herself intrigued by it.  She had been to five high schools in her high school career.  Much of that time, she barely had any time to really enjoy the individual schools’ cultures.  The only consistent culture she knew growing up was that of the Army bases she lived in. 

What did catch her attention was a poem about football. 

 

_As the days grow shorter and colder,_

_And the leaves begin their annual whither,_

_A fiery bloom begins its tender smolder_

_As the adolescent festivities come hither._

_The festivities provoke a smorgasbord_

_Of girdles and skirts and pompoms and end zones_

_Yet none of which seem to strike a single cord_

_Of the dangers of concussions and broken bones._  

_An age-old hype of sports and dance,_

_Of field goal glory and feminine exposure,_

_But when are the underdogs given the chance_

_To prove their worth without a sporty composure?_

_Too invisible are those who bloom with subtlety,_

_To the oligarchy of pompoms and footballs._

_Too soft-spoken are those with lovely frailty_

_When all are smitten by varsity catcalls._

 

The poem ended there, but Lois felt that it was a little incomplete, as if it could be a part of a forthcoming series.  The title itself was _Autumn Songs No. 1._   The author was known only as “The Bard of the Ice Castle.”  Lois thinks it’s catchy.  She liked the poem enough that she is looking forward to the next update.  She hopes that this Bard does update.

She does wonder if there are few jocks and cheerleaders out there who are outraged by this poem’s clear anti-sport tone.  Lois enjoys it immensely.  She even cut out the poem and glued it into a scrapbook.  Lois would admit to herself that she was always very prideful of her articles, but she also enjoyed the writings of others.  She has quite a few scrapbooks containing cutouts of all her favorite articles and writers. 

Lois has been doing it for weeks, but she still doesn’t enjoy hopping around on her crutches.  She gets out of the Uber’s car, pays him and watches until he disappears around a corner.  Not paying any attention to the parade—although she does have to give a nod to the marching band—she manages to make her way to the coffee shop. 

On her way, she spots something.  Parked along the curb, she recognizes the blue Road King motorcycle with whitewall tires.  Lois raises an eyebrow.  If there is the motorcycle, where’s the rider?  Lois looks around the throng of people.  She’s a reporter with skills that some have likened to a detective’s, but she would have to be a damn good one if she can spot someone in this crowd.  Smallville is a small town, but this crowd would suggest otherwise.  The townsfolk must really be into their high school varsity. 

Lois tries walking around a bit, muttering an “Excuse me, pardon me” every so often.  For the most part, people seem quite considerate given her predicament.  While minding her way, she pays close attention to the people.  It’s like playing a game of “Where’s Waldo?” when Waldo doesn’t have his red and white scarf. 

Eventually, she does spot a long bob of blonde hair.  Lois smiles triumphantly.  She has found Joey Kent.  She stands alone, wearing her biker’s jacket, a pair of fingerless gloves, worn jeans and biker boots.  The side of her hair is held back slightly with a blue butterfly hair clip.  Most interestingly, she is facing away from the parade. 

Lois follows her gaze.  She’s staring into what looks like a dress shop.  In the window, a female mannequin wears a lovely cream-colored cocktail dress with lacy straps and a plunging neckline.  Personally, Lois doesn’t think that the color goes with her all that well. 

She steps closer to her.  “You like that dress?”

Her sudden approach causes the teenager to yelp.  She turns and they lock eyes.  “Lois Lane,” Joey acknowledges nervously.  Her green eyes wander for a moment, observing Lois.  “Your wrists are healed.  Congratulations.”

Lois scoffs, fighting back a blush.  “I’m not sure I’d call it ‘congratulations’.  So, you’re dress-shopping.”

Now it’s Joey who blushes.  “More like dress- _gazing_ ; my godparents usually help me when it comes to dresses.”

Lois assumes she’s talking about the Queens.  “Where are they now?”

“In Star City,” replies Joey with a sigh.  “They both know that my first Homecoming is coming up.  My godmother was ready to board a plane and come take me shopping in Metropolis.  I wanted a chance to pick out a dress without any help.  The only thing I couldn’t talk her out of was sending me some dress money.”

Lois raises an eyebrow.  “How much did she send, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Two thousand dollars.”

Lois whistles.  “Are any of these dresses even worth that much?”

Joey shrugs.  “I don’t know; I haven’t walked in.”

“Why not?” asks Lois, she’s not going to get herself a dress if she just stands out here all afternoon.

Joey looks down at herself pitifully.  “Lois, look at me.  Do you know what my classmates call me?  At least the more intelligent ones anyway?”

Lois glances sideways at the young lady.  “What?”

“They call me ‘that Boo Radley’s little girl’,” explains Joey dispassionately.  “Worse yet, I overhear some adults saying similar things.  Sure, Daddy barely leaves the farm, but _I’m_ not a recluse as much as I usually have a ton of chores.”

Lois blinks.  “Huh, I wouldn’t have thought any of your generation would even know who Boo Radley is.”

“I don’t think most of them do,” Joey confirms.  “I think one day someone overheard me quipping about being a ‘Boo Radley’s little girl’ and then someone made an Instagram post about it.  I’ve been called that ever since.”

Lois doesn’t know why, but that makes her want to stub as many people’s toes with her crutches as she can.  She glances up at the store again.  “So, do you want help picking out a dress?” she offers.

“Oh, Lois thanks, but that’s really not…”

“ _Let me help you_ ,” Lois orders imperiously. 

“But you don’t even know what kind of dresses I like,” Joey reminds her smartly. 

“Do you think that maybe that’s a good thing?” asks Lois thoughtfully, turning back to face the young lady.  “Maybe the reason why you don’t want help is because you’re used to those people steering your opinion.  You’re right; I have no idea what you like.  I can provide an unbiased opinion.” 

Joey places her hands on her hips.  “You just want an opportunity to see how I look in a dress, don’t you?  Or are you just that bored and you’re looking for something to do, even if means disobeying my dad?”

Lois bites her lip.  She has to think of that for a minute.  “Maybe a bit of both?”

Joey blinks several times.  “You’re strange woman.”

“You’re a strange girl,” Lois quips.

Joey giggles, flashing those perfect teeth of hers.  Lois would guess that she’s been smiling less and less these last several weeks.  She’s definitely not enjoying high school so far.  “Fine, old woman; you can help me pick out a dress.”

Lois raises an eyebrow.  “Old woman?” she repeats.  “You know that’s going to come back to haunt you, right?”

Joey screams sarcastically.  She walks forward opens the door to the dress store.  “Invalids first.”

“The lucky stars are counting,” Lois grits.   


	10. Chapter Ten

“Daddy, how do I look?” asks Joey, giving her father a small twirl. 

Her father takes off his reading glasses as he looks up from his book.  For a minute, she wonders why he isn’t wearing his contacts.  She does know that he usually prefers his glasses while he’s at home.  One of his last performances as Superman, about six months before her mother passed away, some enemy of his—Joey can’t remember which one, but she wants to say it was some leader for an organization called “Cadmus”—lured him into a trap.  In that trap, her father got flashed with lights from gold kryptonite emitters. 

Luckily, he still had his powers, but it left his vision permanently impaired.  He’s a man who always wore a pair of glasses as part of a lame disguise, and suddenly he truly needed them when reading. 

Right now, she wonders if he sees just how self-conscious she feels.  She feels stupid for feeling this way.  After all, she was the one who picked it out.

She and Lois Lane must have gone through just about half the dresses in the store just trying to find something.  Even the shop owner, Callie, joined Lois in her quest to find Joey a dress.   She tried on all kinds of dresses.  She tried on dresses with corsets; miniskirt dresses; gowns with floor-length skirts; mermaid skirt dresses (her least favorite); dresses with plunging necklines; dresses with at least one slit showing off her legs (Lois and Callie thought she had lovely legs, much to her embarrassment, but Joey didn’t want anything that revealing); and finally dresses with tight skirts that left little room for movement in her legs. 

Eventually, Joey found a dress she liked.  She found herself a dark pink cocktail dress with a knee-length skirt and a sash-like formation of lacy rose pedals leading up from a matching belt at her waist to her opposite shoulder forming a single strap.  Pink isn’t exactly her favorite color, but for some reason she feels the color looks great on her. 

Callie and Lois thought so.  Lois even told her, “Those boys will have to be brain-dead to not want to dance with you.” 

The compliment made Joey blush scarlet.  The dress didn’t even take up all of the money she planned on spending.  She did manage to find some silver ankle-strapped high heels to go with the dress. 

When Joey put everything on, she stood in front of her floor-length mirror in her bedroom and took a picture of herself with her phone.  She sent the picture to Tess and her grandmother.  Tess responded barely five minutes later asking who she was and what the hell did she do with her goddaughter.  Joey called her and managed to convince her godmother that she was still the same girl.

Tess apologized in earnest for not being there to actually see her in her dress. Joey promised her that it was okay.

Joey is still waiting for her grandmother’s response.  Last time they spoke, her Grandma Martha told her she was vacationing in Florida with Perry White.  Joey really wants to visit her.  She’s also kind of jealous how her grandmother spends her vacations.   The combined retirement funds of her grandmother and Perry White must be quite large. 

All that was left was to ask her father how she looked. 

Joey holds her breath as her father sets his book down on the coffee table and rises to his feet.  His eyes never leave her as he slowly walks a circle around her.  When he comes in front of her again, he smiles down at her. 

“You look lovely, Joanna,” he whispers with a reverent smile. 

Joey lets out a sigh of relief. 

“But we’re going to have to do something about your hair,” he informs her. 

Joey reaches up and pats her ponytail lightly.  “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Her father puts his hands on his hips.  “Baby, you can’t go to a homecoming with your hair in just a ponytail.  Go take a seat.”

Joey gives him a suspicious glance, but she obeys.  She goes into the dining room and takes a seat in her usual chair.  A little blurring around and her father appears with one of her boxes of cosmetics.  She scowls up at him.  “What’ve I told you about going into my room?”

Her father shrugs.  “Normally, I’d listen, but after I’m done with your hair, I think you’ll be making an exception.”

Joey sighs.  “Alright, do what you want to do.”  She holds still as her father starts working with her hair.  His hands are extremely gentle, never tugging at her hair too hard.  His friends laughed when he said that he would learn to do hair.  After her mother died, he picked up a few skills.  Among them is hair.  Ballet recitals, social functions that Tess and Oliver invited them to, or just random occasions, her father managed to do her hair. 

Joey distinctly remembers how lousy his first attempts were.  Eventually, he started learning from a barber friend of theirs.  Nowadays, he’s so good that she usually goes to him to help her with her hair. 

She wishes she had taken a seat in front of her vanity mirror.  She would love to actually see what he’s doing to her hair.  Absentmindedly, she starts humming. 

“Quiet,” her father orders.

Joey shuts up immediately.  The noise sometimes makes her father lose his concentration.  She checks the nearest clock.  The dance still doesn’t start for another hour.  She wishes she had a timepiece to match her dress.  Her cellphone works just fine. 

Five minutes pass before her father says, “All done.”

“Do you have a mirror?” another blur of movement and a mirror appears in front of her face.  After giving her father an indignant look, she inspects her reflection in the hand mirror.  What she sees stuns her.  “Daddy…” she reaches up with her free hand and lightly touches her hair.  Her hairstyle vocabulary sucks and now more than ever she resents it.  He put her hair in some sort of braided up-do. 

“Daddy am I still me?” she asks.  She doesn’t recognize the girl in the mirror. She wants to say that she looks more like…her mother.

“Yes, sweetie,” replies her father.  “Now let me get my keys.  I’m going to drive you to the dance.”

Joey frowns up at her father as she puts down the mirror.  “Daddy, seriously?”

Her father crosses his arms.  “Surely you don’t plan on _running_ to the high school in that dress, not after I decorated your hair.  And as lovely as you’d look riding to the school on Ryan, last I checked, there are no horse stables at Smallville High.”

“And I don’t have any friends to drive me to the dance,” mutters Joey as she rises out of her chair. 

“And for that, I’m truly sorry, baby,” her father apologizes.  “It’s hard, but I promise one day you’ll find someone like you who is not afraid of being his or herself.”

Joey would like to tell him that it is partially his fault.  People judge her based on the fact that she’s the daughter of a hermit.  He would remind her that it’s their problem if they judge her for a reason like that.  She supposes that he would be right.  It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Okay, go get your keys,” she says. 

“I already have them,” her father informs her, dangling his keys in front of her.  “Do you want to drive?”

Joey allows a smile to etch her features.  “I’ll try not to get us into an accident,” she jokes as she takes the keys. 

Her father laughs.  “Oh, I’m sure you won’t.”

A few minutes later, the two of them are on the road.  Joey does like to think that she’s becoming pretty good behind the wheel.  It certainly helps that her father’s backseat driving has significantly decreased.  She would like to think that it’s _because_ she has become so good.  Sometimes, she wonders if her father resents her for being a less timid driver than him. 

As she drives, Joey surreptitiously steals a glance as she passes Lois Lane’s house.  She wonders how the woman is spending her evening, having to stay off her feet.  If her father were to allow her, she would invite Lois Lane over for a real meal.  Lois has to be tired of frozen lasagnas, chicken alfredos, and mac n’ cheeses.  At least, that’s what she said her meals were composed of, besides off-brand bagged cereals. 

The evening sun casts a lovely glow upon the farmland that Joey passes.  She has to check them, but she’s pretty sure that the apples in her orchard are just about ready for picking.  The sun bleeds through the crops, casting a slight orange glow to them.

One thing about her Kryptonian physiology that she is particularly grateful for is that she doesn’t need sunglasses.  She has sunglasses, but they are more of a vanity accessory.  She loves living out in the country.  Sometimes she can count more than a minute or two before a car passes.

Eventually, the school complex comes into view.  The place is a hive of activity.  It’s a homecoming dance, yet some are still arriving in limousines and fancy cars.  Joey does take some comfort in seeing that she’s not the only one arriving in a pickup truck that is overdue for a good washing.

She comes to a stop in the parking lot without finding a parking spot.  She puts the car in park and stares at the steering wheel for a minute or two. 

“Cold feet?” asks her father. 

“I don’t exactly have a list of good homecoming memories to use as an example,” replies Joey.  “You were a scarecrow, Mom and Pete didn’t get to have an after party with their best friend, Oliver was a high school bully…Tess, she didn’t give a damn about high school dances.”

“Well, you’re here now,” says her father encouragingly.  “You’re wearing a beautiful dress, your hair looks gorgeous, and your perfume smells lovely.  You’re a blonde goddess in an adolescent body.  You’re going to get out of this truck and go have fun.”

Joey fails to fight back her smile.  It’s one of those rare moments that he has openly complimented her.  He really does want her to go and have fun.  “Okay.”  She unbuckles, but before she can open her door, her father appears on the other side of the door.  She hopes he didn’t use superspeed.  This place is too conspicuous.  Still, she continues to smile as he opens the door and offers his hand. 

“Daddy, you’re such a gentleman,” she teases, grasping his hand as she steps out of the truck.

Her father just smiles.  She doesn’t feel at all embarrasses as he plants a kiss on her cheek before taking her place in the driver’s seat.  She stands on the curb and watches him until he disappears down the road.  She turns around and faces the school.  This would feel a lot better if she hadn’t arrived alone. 

One encouraging note that she received from both Tess _and_ Lois Lane, is that she’s beautiful enough without a man attached to her arm.  For her, a man is little more than an ornament according to them.  She wonders how they would feel knowing that they thought alike without realizing it. 

She takes a deep breath.  “Here goes nothing.”  And she heads into the school. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a short chapter. Sorry if this is the only update to any of my stories this weekend. I had an annual family reunion, so I did little to no writing. I'll update as soon as I can.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait. I took a break to join the MCU fandom. If anyone is interested, I wrote my debut called "A Night in D.C." 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy this chapter!

Joey is fairly certain that she’s making an unattractive figure out of herself.  Tess would scold her.  She barely knows the woman, but Lois would likely scold her.  Her mother is most definitely haunting her.  Her father…she’s uncertain how he would react.

Twenty minutes ago, Joey walked into the gym and she immediately started having an awful time.  The blaring music is an industrial mess of rhythm, electronica, and just noise.  So far, the only real song that has been played is one of those synth-heavy pop songs. 

Joey just stands off to the side, with her arms crossed and wishing she has a book, or her notebook, or even a pen.  It’s a habit that gets on her father’s nerves, but in the absence of paper, Joey would use her own arm as a writing pad.  It irks her so much, but if she doesn’t get a chance to write down poetic passages as they come to her mind, there’s a strong chance she will forget them.

She starts trying to recite some of her poetic thoughts. 

“ _Seeds in throes of passionate dance/Mingled with locking eyes and lips/But with nary a rhythmic prance/As they refrain from loving nips_ ,” she mutters to herself.  Without meaning to, it actually follows the beat of the song. 

She’s a stupid homecoming dance with no date.  Any assertiveness that she might have learned from her godfather is gone.  Seriously, none of those guys who arrived alone want to dance with a farm girl in a pretty pink dress?  Did someone tip them off that she can kick all of their asses with her hands tied her back? 

She can do that without any superpowers.  Oliver’s martial arts lessons made sure of that.  Taking a break from her spoken poetry, Joey takes a moment to actually observe hers surroundings.  Red and yellow balloons flood the place in strangely organized fashion.  Ropes of light interconnect between the basketball hoops and skillfully placed hooks along the ceiling.  Below one of the hoops a raised platform is situated with the DJ as well as a few very large stacks of speakers set up in a semicircular manner. 

For once, the gym itself doesn’t have the lingering stench of musk drifting from the locker rooms.  That could also be Joey’s heightened sense of smell, but as her father reminds her, they are not bloodhounds.  Out of all their heightened senses, at least to her father, their sense of smell is the most “normal.” 

When Joey walked into the gym, she couldn’t help noticing some disdainful glances pointed her way from the girls.  Should she feel glad or embarrassed that the girls are noticing her more often than the boys?  Most of the boys who do notice her are one who are already attached to other girls. 

In the girls’ defense, Joey appreciates the attention, but they should be focusing on their dates.  One of the conversations she overheard was that apparently some other girl or two was hoping to get the dress that she’s wearing.  The dress shop owner doesn’t do reservations on dresses.  She goes for a “first come, first served” policy.  Joey was the one willing to spend the money on the dress.  It’s their loss.

It’s time for the homecoming king and queen to share a dance.  Joey watches them thoughtfully.  The homecoming queen is none other than Patricia Arkin, or who many call “Ric” or simply “Arkin” by Joey.  She wears a red, floor-length gown with matching shoes with stiletto heels.  A sash embroidered with the word _homecoming_ in glittery letters sits delicately upon her body. 

She’s a vision of loveliness, but strip away that glossy exterior and all you get is a bitch who is nasty to anyone she doesn’t call a friend.  Joey has had plenty of instances where she found herself having to keep her temper under control around her.  She can punch a crater into a concrete wall.  Humans are much more delicate than concrete.

Joey’s attention moves on to the homecoming king.  Joey likes to think that she is good with names.  This guy, she knows for a fact, is Dylan Ross.  He’s the son of Pete Ross.  His mother fell out of the picture a long time ago.  Dylan must take after his mother more, because he doesn’t have the same boyish charm to his looks as his father does.  He’s also at least six feet tall, towering over his father.

He’s a bit of a local heartthrob.  Joey couldn’t care less.  She’s interacted with the guy maybe three or four times in their lives. 

Patricia Arkin does seem to be enjoying herself, dancing with who seems to be one of the hottest guys in school, but Joey doesn’t see the same in Dylan.  Dylan’s chiseled features are alit with a polite smile, but Joey sees something else.  Underneath that chiseled smile, she notices a severe amount of discomfort. 

Does he not like Patricia?  Is he dancing with her more out of a sense of obligation?  Could it be that he doesn’t like being in the spotlight?  That would most certainly be ironic.  Unlike his father who loved football and managed to get drafted into the N.F.L. after getting his life on track, Dylan Ross is into theater. 

Joey is no journalist, but she does go out of her way to have some basic knowledge of the people around her.  Dylan has managed to get himself to the head of the school’s drama club.  She’s never attended a school play, but she has seen the show schedules in the school paper.  The last play was _Macbeth_ and Dylan played the titular character.  Does he quote Shakespeare as a way of impressing girls?  It’s a cheap move. 

So why would he be so uncomfortable with this kind of attention?  Is he the kind of guy who would prefer people to focus on his talents, rather him?  Comparing his body language with Arkin’s, he seems more like a trophy to the latter.  It seems that the gaudy zirconia-encrusted crown on her head is nothing compared to the boy whose arms she’s in. 

The song finally ends and the room erupts in applause.  Even Joey finds herself clapping slowly.  Dylan and Arkin detach and Dylan walks away after a brief smile.  Arkin doesn’t seem offended.  Maybe Dylan promised to come back, or she’s just that confident. 

Knowing her the way Joey does, she suspects that it is the latter. 

She’s just about to go and find a quiet corner to read poetry on her phone, or even play the piano in the school auditorium, when she feels a presence next to her.  It’s not that unusual.  She’s in a room full of teenagers going back and forth.  Naturally, a few of them walk by her.  However this one has stood next to her long enough that she can assume he or she is trying to be friendly. 

“If you’re waiting for my permission to start a conversation, you really ought to try something other than hoping I’ll look to my left,” she informs, crossing her arms.

She hears a chuckle.  “I guess the farm girl is as much of a grump as Boo Radley.” 

“No, I’m just a girl in an expensive dress wondering why she wanted to come to this dance,” Joey argues. 

“You definitely look hot in that dress.”

Now Joey turns and her eyes fall on none other than Dylan Ross.  “Does that line work on every girl you talk to?”

Dylan raises an eyebrow and it looks strangely handsome.  “What do you think I am?  Some guy who’s a serial flirt?”  Now Joey feels really stupid.  “You seem like you think you know something about everyone.  What do you know about me?”

Joey opens her mouth to reply, but her cheeks flush violent and a giggle comes out instead. 

Dylan rolls his eyes.  “Yet again, life proves to me just how difficult it is for me to have a normal conversation with a girl,” he laments. 

“At least you’re not quoting Shakespeare,” Joey quips.

Dylan raises an eyebrow again.  “What’s wrong with Shakespeare?”

“Absolutely nothing,” replies Joey truthfully.  She loves Shakespeare.  Growing up, she inherited her father’s speech impediment when really nervous, so her mother convinced her to read Shakespeare out loud.  Well, poetry in general, but Shakespeare is one of her favorites.  She prefers to focus on his lesser known plays.  Everybody has heard of _Romeo and Juliet_ ; _Much Ado about Nothing_ ; and _Macbeth_ , but how many have heard about _Coriolanus_ , or _Titus Andronicus_?  “My problem is people who quote Shakespeare in order to press people, thinking his words are meant to be pickup lines.”

Dylan smiles broadly.  “Then we have something in common; I don’t quote Shakespeare to impress people.”

Joey smiles also before she can stop herself.  “So, what _does_ Dylan Ross do to impress a girl?”

His eyes wander, looking thoughtful.  “It’s Jackie, right?”

“ _Joanna_ ,” she corrects him sharply. 

Dylan laughs and it’s as adorable as the rest of him.  “Well then, _Joanna_ ,” he says, mimicking her tone, “you want to dance?”

That catches her off-guard.  “ _You_ want to dance with _me_?”

“It’s why I asked,” replies Dylan.  “If it will make you feel better, I can take off this stupid crown on my head.”

Joey tries to hide how endearing that actually is.  “And what about Arkin?”

“What?” he scoffs.  “You did not just ask me that.”

“My mother was a famous journalist; some of those qualities might have rubbed off on me,” explains Joey.  “Yes, I did just ask you that.”

“What about observational skills, did you inherit those?”

“I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or not.”

“Not at all,” assures Dylan.  “I’m a theater performer.  I notice when people are staring directly me even when my attention is methodically occupied by something—or someone—else.  So, tell me, what did you think you saw when you were watching Ric and I?”

“Is being a theater performer also the reason why you don’t speak bad English?” asks Joey before she can stop herself.

Dylan flashes a toothy smile.  “Snarky, I like it.  Now do you have an answer, or not?”

She sighs, rolling her eyes.  “I thought you looked really uncomfortable.  You looked like you’d rather be doing anything but dance with her.  It’s kind of harsh.”

“What is she your friend?”

“ _No_!” shouts Joey, a little too loudly.  It’s comparatively quiet to the music and overlapping chatter of the room, but it’s loud enough to make a few people around her, including Dylan, jump.  “No,” she repeats, gentler.  “And I’d rather not talk about it.”

A new song begins.  She recognizes it as “Bamboleo” by the Gipsy Kings.  Welcoming the excuse to cease a possibly worsening conversation, she asks, “Do you know tango, theater boy?”

“As a matter of fact I do,” replies Dylan, following her into the middle of the dance floor. 

Joey’s eyes never leave Dylan as her body begins to move to the music.  She loves to dance.  She came to this stupid dance because of her passion for it.  If only there was a better selection of music that she could enjoy dancing to.  Half the people in this place, as she’s seen, move their bodies to music, but there is no sense of tempo or rhythm in their movement.  Even some of the cheerleaders, she was surprised to see, could barely keep movement with some of the music.  They are used to dancing, if it can even be called that, synchronously with each other, like the members of a glorified girl band.

To louder, faster music, people mostly just jump around and move their arms and legs.  To slower songs, people just sway in lazy circles.  Sometimes, there are actually a few people who know how to dance.  Some dresses are too restrictive for some dances that require a lot of movement. 

It could be part of the reason Joey chose the dress she’s wearing.  She can dance however she wants and wear a beautiful dress at the same time.  As she and Dylan continue to dance around each other, before finally joining, she can see that people around them have given them plenty of space to dance. 

She watches Dylan as they dance.  That sense of disinterest she saw when he danced with Arkin is gone.  As for the look he has on his face now?  There is not only interest; there is enthusiasm, adoration even.  It makes Joey want to be more expressive.

The chorus begins and now she’s attached to him again.  She wraps a leg around him and he’s swinging her around.  Every twirl, dip, and step, her body is acting of its own accord.  Feeling as light as a feather, her feet feel like a blur of movement beneath her.  She ignores the strain in her feet against her heels. 

One thing she will have to agree with her father on is that sometimes girls sacrifice a lot of comfort in the pursuit of beauty.  She never wears anything higher than three-inch heels.  She might have worn a corset a few times as part of a costume, but she hates them.  Given her partially alien physiology, she can count a few minutes between her breaths when she’s desperate enough.  Still, corsets, at least the ones she has worn, feel awful against her body. 

As she and Dylan continue to dance, Joey’s mind fails to register her surroundings.  Her mind is full of nothing but the song, Dylan, and the way she moves her body. 

Then, all too soon, the song ends and just as quickly, their dance ends as Dylan dips her with her free arm outstretched and one of her legs up high.  The room erupts in cheers that are way more enthusiastic than what was offered when Dylan danced with Arkin. 

As Joey returns to her feet, she and Dylan lock eyes for a minute. 

Dylan smirks as he looks her up and down approvingly.  “I’d literally enjoy dancing with you more often.”

Joey raises and eyebrow.  “Literally?” she repeats.  “And here I thought that you were capable of not using filler words.”

Dylan throws his head back and laughs.  “You’re very judgmental, anyone ever tell you that?”

Joey thinks about it for a second.  “Maybe; my dad is a bit bossy with just about everyone.  Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far.”

“Would you get judgmental if I offered to take you out of here and buy you ice cream?”

That catches her off-guard.  He seems good at that.  She also wants to slap that tempting grin right off his adorable features, but she could easily break his jaw if she isn’t careful.  “You’re very confident, aren’t you?”

“Nope,” replies Dylan.  “You’re really beautiful and it’s actually very intimidating.  But you didn’t answer my question.  Ice cream, no ice cream…?”

“How about no ice cream?”

“Okay, then I’ll buy you a frappe,” Dylan tries. 

Joey laughs, paying no heed as the dance floor begins to fill again.  She crosses her arms over her chest, putting on a look similar to how her father regards people.  “You’re not letting me turn you down, are you?”

“I’ll be very sad if you do,” the theater-lover says with a pout. 

Joey rolls her eyes and turns on her heel.  “Well then, be sad, because I have to take a rain check on your offer,” she tells him over her shoulder.  She walks away without another word.  In her head, she’s screaming, _what the hell is that matter you, farm girl?_

She actually likes him a bit.  It could be that he’s just a hell of a dance partner, but it might be enough to pique her interest. 

Abandoning the gym, she heads to the nearest bathroom.  When she enters it, she’s impressed with how clean it is.  Maybe the homecoming dance actually prompted the school staff to make the place immaculately clean.  At least clean enough that the usual lingering smells isn’t terribly overpowering.  Considering this evening’s event, what is overpowering is the mess of perfumes from all the girls who have come to freshen up. 

Joey is doing just that as she inspects her reflection in the mirror.  She sees a few blots that might have come from girls popping pimples.  So far in her life, she has never had acne.  It’s a blessing, one that makes people like Oliver and Tess grumble. 

“I bet you’re real proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

Joey sighs heavily as she turns towards the entrance to the bathroom.  “You’re going to have to be a lot more specific, Arkin.”

“Don’t play dumb, Kent!” hisses Arkin.  She’s far from intimidating, but her friends around her don’t seem to share that sentiment as they shift their feet uncomfortably.  “You think you’re special?  Dancing like a slut with the hottest guy in school?  Well newsflash, blondy, he’s not here with you.  He’s here with _me_!  And you have no right to be wearing that dress!”

Joey puts her hands on her hips.  “First of all, did he actually come here with you?  And second of all, _he_ asked _me_ to dance.  Thirdly, are you blind?  He clearly wasn’t enjoying himself as he danced with you.  You kept flaunting yourself all over him, looking like he was a trophy you won, and he looked like he’d rather be reciting sonnets to the elderly than dancing with you.  He pretty much cajoled me into dancing with him.  As for my dress, I paid for this.  I’ll be the judge of what I wear and don’t wear, which seems to be more than I can say for you, you little sheep.”

Arkin scowls.  She turns to her friends.  “We should make an example of this motherless bitch.”  She snaps her fingers and a bunch of guys burst through the doors. 

Before Joey can question why there are a bunch of guys in the girls’ bathroom, they grab her. 

“Congratulations, Kent,” says Arkin sweetly.  “You’re the new scarecrow.”

Joey rolls her eyes.  Her father and grandfather are very strict about her moderating her public displays of strength.  What is she going to do now?   

  


	12. Chapter Twelve

“You guys must be real charmers with the ladies,” taunts Joey as she’s led through the deserted hallways of Smallville High with a guy on either side of her gripping her arms.  She almost laughs.  They seem to understand that she’s a farm girl with a bit of muscle in her delicate arms, but they don’t the half of it. 

“Shut up, Kent,” orders Arkin, in front of her.

“You’re going to have wire my mouth shut,” challenges Joey.  She inhales sharply as the guy behind her touches her butt a minute too long.  If he keeps that up, his hands will be nothing by skin, muscle, and powdered bones.  “And don’t you dare ruin my dress.”

Arkin and her friends turn around and face her.  “Is that a threat, Kent?” asks Arkin in a low voice. 

Joey smiles brightly.  “It can be whatever you want it to be, but you ruin this dress, you’ll owe me nine hundred dollars.  Unless that pretty head of yours is so full of your dad’s insects that you’ve lost the ability to count cash.  I see those spider-webbed zirconia earrings.  Maybe you’re just wearing them so that you don’t upset Daddy, but something tells me that you are as much of a daddy’s girl as I am.  And they’re lovely earrings by the way.”

Arkin doesn’t seem to register her body’s movements as her hands reach up and rub her earrings between her fingers delicately.  “These are _not_ zirconia!” she hisses. 

Joey raises an eyebrow.  “My godparents are Oliver Queen and his wife, Tess Mercer.  And I have a more or less trained eye for jewelry and I know the difference between cubic zirconia and diamonds.  But don’t fret, dear Queen Bee.  Those earrings are still very beautiful.”

“Shut up!” screams Arkin and she swings. 

Joey doesn’t even blink as Arkin’s fist makes contact with her face.  She feels the impact, and it’s enough to make her wrinkle her nose, but it doesn’t hurt in the slightest.  It does hurt Arkin however.

Her scream morphs into a cry of pain as she cups her injured fist in her other hand.  “Goddammit!” she sobs.  “What the hell are you made of, you freak?”

Joey’s hands ball into fists so tight, she’s worried her nails will cut into her skin.  She is a freak and there’s not a freak on Earth like her.  She hates the word.  Without thinking, she violently shrugs out of the boys’ grips.  Without looking, she jabs them both in the groin with the sides of her fists.  The impact doesn’t send them flying, but high-pitched squeals rise out of the both of them.  As angry as Joey is, she’s not putting all her strength into this. 

She steps towards Arkin, who seems paralyzed with fear.  Her friends take off running, leaving her all alone as Joey looms over her.  Bending down a little, she grips Arkin’s chin in a vice grip as she leans in close. 

“I’m sorry that the guy you wanted to dance with didn’t want to dance with you,” she apologizes, not unkindly.  “But as far as I can tell you weren’t even _looking_ at him.  He was just an ornament like every other ornament in your life.  Would it kill you to even try to have a meaningful relationship with anyone?”

Arkin just whimpers. 

“You’re pathetic, Patricia.”  A bout of cold laughter escapes Joey’s throat that bothers even her.  “And don’t ever call me ‘freak’.”  She releases the girl and walks off.  She doesn’t even have any real sense of where she is going until she finds herself in the Torch office of all places.  The room is thankfully deserted. 

She stares around the room thoughtfully.  This was once her parents’ sanctuary.  Actually, it may have just been her mother’s sanctuary and her father was just an honored guest.  Dead mother, no place in this office, some classmate wanted to string her up like a scarecrow just because some guy wanted to dance with her… 

Is there some higher being pulling the strings?  Is something dropping a series of hints telling her that she has no place in the world?  Is she being punished for literally being the first of her kind?  Not even all of her father’s former colleagues in and out of the Justice League know that she even exists.  Her parents were so scared for her safety, what would happen if the wrong people knew of her, that there are only a small number of the people who know her father’s secret identity know of her.      

Off the top of her head, the only people among those who knew her father as Superman are her godparents, her grandmother, her father’s cousin Kara; Bruce Wayne, and Diana Prince. 

Tears brim in Joey’s eyes as she sinks onto the old couch.  Not for the first time, she wishes she had a brother or sister, or that Kara had a kid of her own that she could relate to.  Hers was a difficult pregnancy enough, so Joey understands her parents’ decision to not have another child.  Would they still have had a child anyway? 

Her father can whine all he wants about wishing he was normal, even going to great lengths to pretend he’s normal, but he can’t possibly comprehend just how alone she feels.  She’s proud of her abilities, but still she has to hide them. 

Joey catches herself.  Why is she thinking about all of this?  How does Arkin’s latest display of bitchiness bring up all these thoughts?  Why isn’t she more focused on how this evening has gone down? 

She danced with a handsome guy when she didn’t even want to be at this stupid dance in the first place.  If anything, she should be laughing at how pathetic Patricia Arkin is! 

Yet, here she is crying in the darkness of the school’s newspaper office. 

“Joanna?”

Joey snaps to attention as her eyes flick towards the doorway.  Her eyes land on none other than Dylan. 

“What do you want?” she asks, making sure to sound unwelcome. 

Dylan clears his throat.  He does look a little more relaxed.  He has taken off his black tie and the top button has been unbuttoned.  “I saw two of the school’s best football players on the ground out in the hallway rocking back and forth.”  He raises an eyebrow.  “Was that you?”

To Joey’s surprise, she actually blushes.  It must be answer enough. 

“Wow, she dances _and_ kicks ass,” muses Dylan as he takes a bold step into the office.  “What did they do to get their asses handed to them by a farm girl?”

“Why do you care?”

Now Joey starts to see some annoyance in his gaze.  “Hey, I’m trying very hard to be friendly here.  I’m getting tired of you trying to push me away.”

“Then how about you unburden yourself and just walk away?” suggests Joey.  “You can even forget about that dance we shared for all I care.”

Dylan raises an eyebrow.  “You really think I’m going to forget about that anytime soon?  I’m sorry, have I done anything to make you so…apprehensive?”

Joey seems to sink into the couch as she lets out a drawn-out sigh.  She’s turning into her father!  “I guess I’m just not used to someone approaching me the way you did.”

Dylan gapes at her as he approaches her slowly.  “You don’t have any friends, do you?”

Joey smiles in spite of herself.  “None who are in this state anyway.”

“Why did you have to hurt those guys?” asks Dylan, repeating his earlier question. 

More tears spill from Joey’s eyes.  “I guess the Homecoming Queen didn’t like some farm girl dancing with her king.  She wanted me to be the scarecrow.”

A long stretch of silence follows.  Joey hardly registers it as Dylan takes a seat next to her on the couch.  She then feels something warm drape around her shoulders.  It’s his suit coat. 

“Are you tired of being so sweet?” she teases, even as she pulls the coat a little closer. 

She hears a groan.  “Guys don’t like to be told they’re sweet.”

A startled fit of laughter escapes Joey’s throat.  “And do you speak for every guy, or are you saying _you_ don’t like to be told you’re sweet?”

“Touché,” Dylan admires.

She turns to face him.  She studies him thoughtfully, almost tempted to let herself get lost in those sharp brown eyes.  “Does that ice cream offer still stand?”

The smile that spreads across Dylan’s lips could light up all of Smallville, Metropolis and every mile in between.  He rises to his feet and holds out his hand.  “Care to join me, Kent?”

“Call me Joey,” she says as she grasps his hand.  “So what happens if Arkin sees us?”

Dylan considers his answer.  “Mm, I wouldn’t mind seeing _her_ being a scarecrow, but I think it’ll be torture enough for her to see me spending time with a girl whose not her.  As my grandma would say, she can go suck on lemons.”

Joey laughs a little.  The guy’s properness is actually starting to grow on her a bit.  Maybe this evening might not be so bad after all.   

She wonders what her father will say when she gets an opportunity to tell him about her evening.  Hopefully, he won’t freak out about her spending time with a boy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Lois' PoV


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Lois is sure she is casting a very poor picture of herself.  She stands in the only toy shop in Smallville.  It’s not Toys ‘R’ Us, which Lois misses a bit, but it’s a nice little store.  Toys ‘R’ Us has been out of business for years and Lois didn’t really play with toys all that much.  Lucy was the one who played with toys more and Lois found herself shopping for her little sister a lot. 

Eventually, when Lachlan came into her life, she started shopping for him as well.  A number of times, she even got Lex to get away from business to help her with shopping.  Once or twice, she managed to get Lex to even do face paint at a state fair.  His entire head was painted to look like Darth Maul.  He only stopped her when she tried to glue tortilla chips in lieu of horns onto his head.  Considering the fact he was wearing black that day (it still makes her laugh how he can wear black even in eighty-degree weather) he pulled off the look quite well. 

She can be a nerd, but she wears it proudly.

Next month is Lachlan’s twelfth birthday.  Lex and Lois always laugh about it, but they have wondered if Lachlan will ever outgrow his love of Legos.  Determined to be a better father than Lionel ever was, Lex made it a goal to let Lachlan indulge in his favorite toys.  Over the years, it was Lois who helped make sure he didn’t overcompensate.  They weren’t going to spoil their favorite brat to death.

This shop in Smallville doesn’t have the largest selection of Lego sets.  If Lois didn’t have a bad leg, she would have driven all the way to Metropolis to visit the Lego store.  Weirdly enough, this store has a set that Lachlan has be searching for a long time.  It’s a limited edition train set.

Lois can never understand why train sets are so difficult to find.  More than most Lego sets, they seem to be those ones that you better get when they first come out, otherwise they will sell out quickly.  The ones that are available always end up being from third-party sellers asking for prices that even make Lex roll his eyes. 

As such, the price tag on this set says five hundred dollars.  “This is so not worth that price,” she mutters.  “At least the Lego motors aren’t so bad.” 

“Do you need some help, lady?”

Lois turns around in her crutches and comes face to face with the store owner.  Some thirty-something-year-old woman in jeans, boots, and a colorful blouse, probably to add to the store’s charm and she’s been pretty kind to her.  This shop owner—Harriet was it?—she’s been kind without adding any sort of fluff that Lois normally finds in stores specializing in merchandize aimed towards children.

It’s enough to make Lois swallow her pride.  “Um, yeah, I’d appreciate it,” she admits.  It being difficult enough to carry groceries while on crutches, and not having a helper around, she’s had to improvise.  She bought bags with really long straps.  It makes walking a little awkward as bags swish back and forth, but it’s a sacrifice.

She wishes she could have Joey’s help.  The girl is young enough to be her daughter, but recently she seems to be the only new person in her life that has actually tried to be her friend. 

She could use her help with this Lego set.  It’s too wide to fit into any of her bags.  Even if it could, carrying a large cardboard box starts to get really uncomfortable after a while. 

“You’re lucky, Ms. Lane,” Harriet says as Lois follows her to ring her up.  “This shop has its own Facebook page and we always keep updates on what’s coming in.  This set has been in such high demand; I didn’t even add an arrival date for when it came in.”

Lois raises an eyebrow, intrigued.  “When did it come in?”

“Six hours ago,” replies Harriet as she scans the price tag.  “With the entire Homecoming hubbub, everyone has been too preoccupied with high school football to give a damn about a family-owned toy store.  You’re my first customer since two o’clock this afternoon, so lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” agrees Lois as she hands Harriet her debit card. 

Harriet swipes her card and her receipt prints out.  “And there you go, Ms. Lane.”

“Thank you,” Lois thanks in earnest.

“Out of curiosity, who is this for?” asks Harriet as she packages the Lego set.

“My son,” replies Lois.  It surprises her that she is even able to say that without a twinge of sadness.  She’s banned by law from seeing Lachlan, but she did find a loophole.  She can still write to him or in this case send a package addressed to Lex, but with a note telling him that the gift is for their son.  “He’s an avid Lego fan.”  She smiles.  “He once said he hopes to make the ‘biggest, craziest Lego city the world has ever seen.  Even added that he thinks it would be seen from the moon.”

Harriet laughs at that.  “That’s adorable.  How big is it now?”

Lois thinks about that for a minute.  “Well, he took over the house’s gym and right now I’d say that about…a third of it is filled?”

Harriet whistles.  “That’s impressive.  You must be pretty rich if you can afford all that.”

Lois’ chest tightens, but it’s a comment that she is used to hearing.  “I have a steady income and I’ve been able to afford to let my son indulge in his hobbies here and there.”  She slings the package over her shoulder and heads towards the door.  Harriet beats her to it and opens it for her. 

“Thanks and have a good night,” Lois bids.

“You too, Ms. Lane.”  As soon as Lois is out the door, Harriet puts up the closed sign. 

“Last customer of the day,” Lois muses.  “Huh.”  The cabbie gave her his number, so she can call him when she is ready to head home.  She’s not ready for that yet.  It’s a nice night out; she wants to indulge herself.  Most people in her life can agree that patience is not one of her virtues and as such, she cannot wait to be rid of her crutches.  When they come off, there will be a ceremony wherein her crutches will be burned. 

Walking along a quiet street seems to have such a better vibe than hopping along it.  Walking along the street even has a more romantic vibe to it.  Smallville is a small town and for the most part, even if some shops are still open at this late hour, it is going to bed.  Metropolis doesn’t hold the title of being the city that never sleeps, but it never does truly sleep. 

There’s always somebody walking along the streets; there are always cars going in every direction; there’s always someone to stop and talk to.

After some looking around, Lois does see an ice cream shop open.  She’s lived in this town for a while now and she hasn’t even indulged herself in the local ice cream!  When she’s not harassing people for an interview, she is a bit of a listener.  Perhaps the more accurate term would be eavesdropper.  So during her _eavesdropping_ , she has heard good things about the ice cream from both locals and the occasional stranger. 

What kind of investigative reporter would she be if she didn’t investigate the ice cream?  She crosses the deserted street on her way to the ice cream shop.  As she draws near, she reads the sign above the shop.  “Tommy’s Creamery” the sign reads with a luminescent ice cream cone in place of the apostrophe.  It’s clever, Lois thinks.

When she is close enough to peer inside, she catches a glimpse of a young couple.  She stands back and watches them for a moment.  They look so cute together.  The young lady is giggling as she spoons a bowl of ice cream.  She looks lovely…and familiar.

Lois cocks her head.  “Joey?” she wonders out loud.  That is definitely Joey Kent, but who is the boy?  Lois studies the young man thoughtfully.  He’s handsome, all right.  High cheekbones, skin of chocolate, a suit that looks like it is straining against his arms.  Not that Lois has uncouth thoughts about boys a third of her age, he just looks like he would look really good without a shirt on.

She wonders what Clark would think of seeing his daughter having a nice time with this young man.  There is no way she can enter the ice cream shop unnoticed.  Why is she concerned with being noticed?  Does she not want to risk interrupting these two or does she want to avoid the young lady’s attention at the moment?

It could be the latter.  They haven’t had many opportunities to hang out with each other, but in the times that they have, Lois avoided talking about her family.  She might not have even brought up the existence of her son in any of their encounters. 

She’s proud to be a mother, even if she is an adoptive one.  She’s just ashamed of the position she put herself in.  It’s not really worth sharing and she doesn’t want Joey looking at her with the same disdain as everyone else has.  She doesn’t want her looking at her the way Clark does. 

Through all of her thoughts, she finally notices something.  Joey is staring right at her through the window. 

_Crap._

Joey smiles and rises from her chair.  There is no point in Lois trying to hop away.

“Lois!” greets Joey as she comes out the door.  The young man she was with soon follows after her.  “What are you doing out and about?”

Deciding to play along, Lois raises an eyebrow.  “I could ask you the same thing; I thought you’d still be at the dance.”

Joey turns back and shares a glance with her date.  “Um, I was at the date, but the people sucked, the music mostly sucked, and some girls wanted to string me up as this year’s scarecrow.  Dylan and I decided to ditch the dance.”

Lois blinks several times.  “Some girls wanted to ‘string you up as a scarecrow’?”

It’s the boy called Dylan who answers.  “It’s a Smallville High tradition.  The senior varsity selects a freshman and ties them up in one of the cornfields, strips them down to their underwear and paint an _S_ on their chests.”

Lois scowls.  “And people just let it happen?”

Joey and Dylan share a look.  “It’s an open secret in the town,” explains Joey.  “Once or twice, lawsuits were taken against the school regarding the matter.  One of the victims had really bad asthma and because he was tied up, he couldn’t access his inhaler.  He almost died.  Officially the school has harsh consequences for people when they are caught doing it, but students still try to do it.”

“Because it’s tradition,” Lois sums up with a sneer.  “Dammit, I hate hazing.”  She finally regards the boy named Dylan thoughtfully.  “I guess I haven’t properly introduced myself.  Lois Lane.”

“Dylan Ross,” he introduces.

Lois smiles in spite of herself.  “If my hands weren’t full, I’d shake your hand.”

“Speaking of which, do you need a ride home?” offers Joey.

“I’d be more than willing to offer you both a ride,” adds Dylan. 

“What a gentleman,” praises Lois, inclining her head.  “I was hoping to get myself some ice cream first.”

Joey smiles brightly.  “I’ve got you covered.  Do you want a cone, a bowl…?”

“I thought I’d just go home with a carton,” Lois cuts her off. 

“Okay, what do you want?”

Lois thinks about it for a minute.  “You know what, I trust you.  Surprise me.”

Joey smiles again and heads back inside, leaving Lois out with Dylan. 

“So why hasn’t her father come to pick her up?” asks Lois, making conversation.

“Joey said he’s in Metropolis for the night,” replies Dylan. 

Lois whips her head around to face him.  “Metropolis?” she repeats.  “I didn’t think he left that farm very much.”

Dylan laughs.  “My friends might think he’s the Boo Radley of Smallville, but every other weekend, according to Joey, he goes to Metropolis.”

“Boo Radley,” repeats Lois.  “You’ve read _To Kill a Mockingbird_?”

Dylan rolls his eyes.  “Why does that surprise everyone?”

“Sorry if I made any implications,” Lois apologizes quickly.  “It just seems like not many people in your generation do a lot of reading.”

“I sure don’t see a lot of my classmates reading leisurely.  It’s pitiful.”

“Pitiful, indeed.”

Joey eventually comes back out with a small paper bag. 

“What kind did you get me?” asks Lois. 

“Moose Tracks,” replies Joey.  “I think you’ll love it.”

“I think I will too,” mutters Lois.

“Hey, my dad’s birthday is next weekend, do you want to come?”

Lois looks up at the young lady.  She laughs nervously.  “I don’t think your dad would like that.”

Joey nods thoughtfully.  “Of course not; that’s why I’m inviting both of you.”

Now it’s Dylan who is laughing nervously as he and Lois exchange a glance.  “Really, I’m not sure I should intrude…”

Joey rolls her eyes.  “Birthday parties usually mean the only guests will be me, my godparents, my dad’s cousin, and my grandma.  Please?  Some new faces will not only help me not go crazy, but my godparents love people, so…?”

Dylan and Lois share a look again.  She is sure that he’s realized by now that Joey Kent is a difficult girl to say no to. 

“Sure, why not?”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Joey hums lightly as she puts the finishing touches on her father’s breakfast.  She’s thankful that his birthday has fallen on a weekend day.  This would have been more stressful if she had school to worry about.  Both of them are early risers, so she had to get up extra early.  She has been up since three-thirty. 

Her dad won’t even have to tell her to take a nap, she’s so sleepy.  Saturdays are not meant for getting up early!  Usually, her father deals with all the morning chores on Saturdays, but Joey still does some from time to time.  However, weekends mean that she can take a nap once she is done with her morning chores.  Cows always need milked; eggs always need to be collected; the stables always need mucked. 

Joey might be farmer, but sometime even she wouldn’t mind seeing the livestock learning how to use toilets.  They would have to be really big toilets. 

She is sure that her dad’s senses are acuter than hers, but he is also a heavy sleeper.  As a result, she has been able to make him a plate piled high with blueberry pancakes and sausages.  Her dad always relies on pancake mix from the store, but Joey made a goal to learn pancakes from scratch from her grandmother.  According to her grandmother, she has become quite good at making them. 

Martha Kent is probably the sweetest woman that Joey knows, but she doesn’t hold back on her constructive criticism. As such, Joey believes her when she says she is getting better at things. 

Her cellphone vibrates as she finishes putting the pancakes on the plate for her father.  She also left a few for herself.  She’s not going to make a bunch of pancakes and not leave any for herself.  Snatching the device off the counter before it goes to voicemail, she answers it.  She swipes her hand upward on the screen, activating the holographic blowup.  She smiles. 

“Uncle Ollie!” she greets, smiling brightly.  “What’re you doing up so early?”

Her godfather, Oliver Queen shrugs innocently.  He’s still sitting in his bed wearing his green nightwear and his hair is a mess.  His wife, Tess also enters the screen.  She’s wearing a revealing nightgown and her red hair, though tangled, still looks as great as it always does.  She might be in her forties, but those red locks of hers are yet to show any real signs of age. 

“I wanted to see what you were up to, Girl Scout,” he replies eventually.

Joey frowns.  “Aunt Tess, please remind Uncle Looks-Without-Brains that I’m not a girl scout.” 

Tess laughs as Oliver raises an indignant eyebrow.  “Ollie, Joey isn’t a girl scout.”

Joey laughs too.  The nickname doesn’t really bother her, but she has to tease her godfather.  It’s a requirement.  Probably the only reason he calls her that is because her dad’s codename has always been “Boy Scout.” 

Oliver cranes his neck to meet his wife’s gaze.  “And if I’m ‘Looks-Without-Brains, does that make you ‘Beauty-Without-a-Soul’?”

Tess scowls at him and Joey smiles.  She loves their banter.  “No, Uncle Ollie, she’s ‘Awesome-Comes-in-Prada’,” she deadpans. 

Tess meets her gaze through the screen and they share a wink.  “See, baby, she’s fifteen, but knows what I am.”

Oliver nods in agreement.  “Yeah, but at least _my_ feet don’t hurt by the end of the day from wearing stilettos.”

“Ooh, that was a good one, Uncle Ollie!” Joey congratulates, ignoring Tess’ indignant gaze.  “So, should we expect the two of you?”

Oliver looks at his watch.  “Um, we’ll probably be in Metropolis a little after noon.”

“Is Bobby coming?” asks Joey.  It’s been a while since she has seen her best friend.

Oliver and Tess’ gazes turn a bit solemn and she almost regrets asking.  “Bobby actually can’t leave the house right now.  He’s off juvie on parole and besides school, he can’t go anywhere until, hopefully, his parole is lifted at his next hearing.”

Joey nods gravely.  “Is he wearing an ankle monitor?”

Her godparents nod silently.  Joey decides to chance the subject.  “Um, I’m making Daddy breakfast.”

Seeming grateful for the chance in subject, Oliver and Tess’ faces brighten.  “Oh, you’re so sweet!” commends Tess.  She scowls at her husband.  “I wish somebody would make me breakfast once in a while,” she whines, jabbing Oliver playfully. 

Oliver yelps just as playfully.

Joey averts her eyes.  “Okay, if you two are going to get cuddly, I’ll just hang up.”

“No wait!” Oliver protests.  “At least bring up to your dad so we can get on his nerves with our ‘happy birthdays’.”

Joey smiles at that.  “He never has enjoyed big displays of affection has he?”

“Nope,” reply her godparents in unison. 

“Birthdays, Christmas, even your parents’ engagement party,” Tess lists off.  “Your mom made him blush so much; his face was redder than my hair.  You are your mother’s daughter, sweetie.”

Coming from her, it means a lot.  From the right people, being praised or compared to her mother feels wonderful.  “Alright,” she says, setting the phone down so that she can put her father’s plate of food, a mug of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and a small pitcher of heated syrup onto a tray.  Being plenty strong enough, as well as coordinated, she carries the tray in one hand and her cellphone in the other.  “Okay,” she says.  “Let’s go wake the birthday grouch.”

Her godparents laugh loudly.  “That’s a good one, Jo!” praises Oliver with a wink. 

Both her godparents are actually quite strict when it comes to the business world.  Her godmother has been known to make men wet themselves when they cross her and for all of her godfather’s easy sense of humor, he is also quite shrewd.  It makes Joey happy that they can be so lighthearted with her.  With her hands full, she takes a deep breath and heads upstairs, taking care not to spill anything. 

She has her godfather to thank for teaching her to have steady hands.  Like anybody, she has clumsy moments, but they are nowhere near as frequent as her father’s.  She reaches the top of the stairs and lets out a sigh of relief.  She walks towards her father’s bedroom door softly.  Grasping her cellphone in three of her fingers, she uses the thumb and index finger of that hand to pry her father’s door open. 

To give her godparents something to smile about, she directs the screen towards the sign on her father’s door.

**If this Door**

**Is Closed**

** Do Not Disturb **

Bleeding profusely in the only exception

 

“Hmm, why didn’t _we_ have a sign like that while Bobby was growing up?” asks Tess, thoughtfully.  Joey doesn’t injure easily, so the sign would definitely be more appropriate for _them_.

She then turns the screen towards her father.  He is sprawled on the bed with his face buried between the pillows.  As she approaches, the whole room seems to rumble as he snores deeply.  Joey turns her phone towards her and mouths, “ _And he says he doesn’t snore_.”

Her godparents each bite into a pillow to stifle their laughter.  Suddenly, the sound of her father sniffing fills the room.  Joey lifts her gaze to the bed and indeed sees her father lifting his head slightly. 

“Food,” he rumbles groggily.  “Panpakes.  Saubage.  Cothee.”

Joey can barely contain her laughter.  Her godparents are trying very hard not to let their humor get the better of them.  All three of them fall silent as her father turns his head lightly towards her.  He smiles sleepily. 

“Morning, sweetie,” he groans, his voice managing to form real words.  He eyeballs the tray of food.  “What’s this?”

“Happy birthday!” Joey and her godparents wish together. 

More groans as her father rolls over and rubs his eyes, sitting up.  “Oh, honey, you made me breakfast?” he asks. 

“Of course she did, Clark!” Oliver answers for her.  “It’s your birthday; you don’t need to be making your own meals.”

“Oliver, Tess,” says her father.  “Isn’t it four in the morning where you are?”

Oliver rolls his eyes on the screen.  “Yeah, but that doesn’t I mean I can’t call and help my favorite teenage girl in the world wish her dad a happy birthday.”

Joey lets out a sigh of relief as her father smiles.  He has always been uncomfortable with celebrating his birthday.  “Well thank you, everyone,” he says, sitting back against the headboard and taking the tray from Joey.  He then offers her a silly look.  “Baby, you didn’t give me fork.  How am I supposed to eat this?”

Her face falls.  “Excuse me for a second.”  She tosses her phone in the air and races downstairs, grabs a fork, knife, and a napkin and returns to her father’s room before her phone even starts coming back down.  She catches the phone without looking as she holds the items out to her father. 

“Damn, girl, you’re faster every day!” marvels Oliver. 

“Thanks, Uncle Ollie.”

Her father scoffs lightly.  “Queen, you may not actually be here, but I still don’t like that kind of language in my house.”

“Showwy, Daddy,” Oliver apologizes with a childish voice.  “You gonna spank me?”

Joey and Tess roll their eyes, but her father just raises his eyebrow. 

“Don’t tempt me, darling,” warns her father with a smooching sound. 

Joey’s eyes roll back into her head with moan.  “I am going to go do other stuff right now.  Enjoy your breakfast, Daddy.”  She leaves her father’s bedroom without another word and faces her godparents on the hologram.  “Well, safe flight you two.  I can’t wait to see you.”

Her godparents smile back.  “Don’t let your daddy drive you too crazy,” Tess reminds her with a wink.  “It’s not _your_ birthday, but we’ll bring you something too.”

Joey’s eyes sparkle as a big smile spreads across her cheeks.  “I love you guys.”

“We love you too,” replies Oliver.  “Now our plane leaves in a few hours, but we’d like to sneak in a few more minutes of sleep first.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye-bye, Girl Scout.”  And then the screen goes blank.  She lets her shoulders sag as a sigh of relief escapes her.  Her father could have easily brushed off her efforts even with her godparents on the phone.  She hopes that the rest of the day continues to play out nicely. 

In need of fresh air after all that cooking she steps outside into the crisp morning air.  The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, but there’s the colorful glow of the sunrise upon the horizon.  Joey fondly remembers days when her father would fly her up to a vantage point where they could see the entire farm as the sunrise lit it up.  She would like to see the whole farm like that again. 

Her father wouldn’t fly again if his life depended on it.  At least not in a leisurely sense; sometimes he flies into the air with his shotgun so that he can look for pests in the crops. 

Her family shares a deep love of animals.  She remembers her mother whimpering at the thought of her father shooting pests. 

She would give anything to see the fields like that again.  Maybe she can someday.  Wait…

Joey looks down.  “Oh, my God!” she screams, covering her mouth with both hands.  She’s actually floating above the ground!  In fact, she’s high enough that the barn looks to be the size of a car.  She’s starting to hyperventilate.  That’s not good.  “Okay, okay, Joey you can do this,” she encourages herself.  She hasn’t even covered flight with Jor-El yet.  “Just down, nice and… _EASY_!” her voice ends in a scream as she ends up in a free fall. 

“Stop, stop, stop!” she wails, putting her hands in front of her as the ground rapidly comes closer.  She squeezes her eyes shut and waits for the impact.  When it doesn’t happen, she dares a peek.  Now she’s level with the roof of the barn.  “Okay, we don’t need to tell Daddy about this,” she says.  He will throw a fit.  “Let’s take this slow, Joey.  Let’s try _up_.”

It works too well.  She screams again as the ground rapidly becomes farther away.  Again she tries hard to get herself to just _stop_.  She stops again.  Now she is in the clouds.  Looking down, she can’t even see her house.  How high is she?  She can breathe normally, so either she’s not high enough for breathing to be an issue, or her Kryptonian physiology is winning out. 

She still doesn’t want to try to go too high.  Being half human, she doesn’t think she can survive in space.  Her dad can survive in space, but in the vacuum, he cannot generate thrust.

“Surely I can’t be too high,” Joey says, trying to lighten the situation.  “Now I just need figure out… _oh, my God_!” she screams as something collides with her.  It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel good either.  Shaking her head, she looks down at herself.  Her clothes are in shreds.  As least she wasn’t wearing any of her favorite clothes, but she will need new coveralls.

Her face descends into absolute horror as she sees what hit her.  Now she knows exactly how high she was.  She was at cruising altitude and her eyes are locked onto a plane that now has a fiery stump where one of its wings should have been.

“Oh, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joey can fly! 
> 
> Sort of. 
> 
> And my parents did actually have a sign just like Clark's on their bedroom door while I was growing up. I don't think my sisters and I ever truly listened to that sign. Thankfully it never led to any...awkwardness.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Joey has no time to register her horror.  A plane just ran into her!  Now that very plane is spinning out of control as its severed wing falls to the ground in a ball of fire.

“Okay, okay, Joey, let’s figure this out,” she encourages herself.  _Forward_.  Her body shoots forward, in the direction of the plane.  “No, no, no…!” she goes too far and now the plane is above her.  “Oh, come on!”

This is just perfect.  She has to figure out how to fly and how to save a plane at the same time! 

“Come on, Joanna, you born to fly, you can do this!” she shouts.  Still, she’s not sure how much her pep talks can help.  She needs her mother’s help.  She was always her father’s biggest moral support, possibly even bigger than her grandmother’s.  She is dead.  What about her father?

He’s not going to help her.

She tries to soar towards the plane again.  “Come on, come on,” she sobs.  This time she accidentally pierces right through the plane’s tailfin.  She is only making matters worse.

Now the plane is spinning at an even worse angle.  Her dad has saved many planes!  Shouldn’t she be able to do the same? 

“Grandpa, I need your help,” she implores.  And just like that, as if she dialed his number, a voice not her own sounds in her head. 

“ _Joanna_ ,” her grandfather’s voice booms in her head. 

It was some time ago that she and her grandfather developed this telepathic link so that she wouldn’t have to go to the Ice Castle every time she wants to talk.  She still has to go there for a lesson, or a chess match, or just to have somewhere to escape to (she already has an assortment of her belongings stashed there) but she doesn’t need to be there to talk.

“I’m, I’m flying, Grandpa,” Joey explains, shakily. 

“ _That’s wonderful news!_ ” his voice is the same as always, but she will accept it as excitement. 

“No, Grandpa, it’s not,” Joey says.  “I remember all of the lessons you taught me, but there’s a big difference between textbook and actually doing it!  And now there’s a plane that is about to crash because of me!”

“ _Calm down, dear granddaughter,_ ” says Jor-El’s soothing voice.  “ _Remember what we went over about thrust_?”

“Yeah?” replies Joey as she circles the falling plane. 

“ _You know what it is you want to do, don’t you_?”

“Yeah, but it just isn’t working!”

“ _Darling, you have to believe yourself_ ,” Jor-El reminds her.  “ _Even if you think your father doesn’t believe in you, you have to believe in yourself_.”

Joey closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as the wind and smoke from the plane whip at her face.  “You can do this, Joey,” she encourages herself yet again.  Opening her eyes again, she watches as the other wing loosens before tearing off completely.  Now it’s just a wingless, tailless fuselage and the ground is closing in awfully fast.

With a fierce yell, she shoots herself towards what’s left of the plane.  She doesn’t have super-hearing yet, but it shouldn’t take inhuman hearing abilities to guess how terrified everyone aboard the plane must be.  They might be begging for it to all be over as soon as possible.  They might be embracing their loved ones as they await their inevitable demise. 

Joey is not going to let that happen.  None of them are going to die, if she can help it.  Carefully, she flies closer to the nose.  She is soon level with the nose.  For a minute, she wonders if the pilots have a clear view of her.  It’s a pretty foggy morning.  They might not have a clear view of her face.

That shouldn’t be her concern right now.  Planting her hands on the nose, she tries to push herself upward.  A loud shudder rings through the fuselage.  She’s not exactly sure what is happening, but at least the plane is no longer in a dead spin.  In her effort to balance the damaged aircraft, her hands actually sink _into_ the nose of the plane. 

“For God’s sake!” shouts Joey, straining against the plane.  Before she knows it, her feet have touched the ground.  She lands much softer than she thought she would, so that’s a win isn’t it?  A shock wave goes through the whole plane as its weight presses down on her.  “Now, let’s set this thing down gently.”  Fighting to stay balanced she lowers what’s left of the plane.  Straining loudly, she manages to set the plane down.  It lands on the ground with a deep _thud_ , but otherwise softly enough not to cause much harm to anyone on board.

Glad that it is all over, Joey releases the fuselage and looks around.  The fog is actually a little dense, but she can make out a few details.  She sees…yard lines.  A twenty-yard line, a thirty-yard line…  Before she can stop herself, a laugh escapes her lips.  The plane landed in the middle of the school football field!  It looks like the Crows won’t be playing any home games for a while, let alone practice on the field. 

She wants to check to make sure that everyone is okay, but she doesn’t want anyone to see her face.  Still not trusting her flying abilities quite yet, Joey breaks off into a run.  She saved a plane!  And it didn’t explode!  She’s fifteen and she just saved lives. 

Wasn’t her father about the same age the first time that he saved a bunch of lives?  If she remembers correctly, it was a homecoming dance and some meteor freak tried to electrocute everyone.  She feels bad for the kid.  He ended up being twelve years out of time.  Her father never saw the guy again, but still she hopes that he managed to find a place in life.

Of course, it’s her fault that there is now a plane in the middle of the football field.  It’s her fault that the plane was destroyed. 

But she can blame her father for her lack of flying skills.  It’s _his_ fault that her only flying lessons have been the textbook talk of her bodiless grandfather.  Jor-El is a computer; would he have more compassion if he was an actual ghost? 

She’s pretty sure that even ghosts have the inability to evolve as computers do.  As far as she knows, there are no materials for Jor-El to get an update.  As joke, she even tried to upload the latest Windows software into him.  There was no way for her to upload it.

Her thoughts continue to race through her mind all the way home.  She finally comes to stop right by the barn. 

With a deep exhale, she walks up to her house, but then stops dead in her tracks as her ears pick up the sound of slow clapping.  Her blood runs cold as her eyes land on her father, still in his pajamas as he leans against a pillar on the porch.  His face is perhaps the most livid that she has ever seen. 

“Well, fly-girl, you sure look like you’ve been through hell,” he drawls, but his voice is as cold as ice. 

Joey looks down at herself.  Her jeans and flannel are covered in scorch marks and tears.  She sighs heavily. 

“Come inside…right now, young lady,” her father commands. 

Joey silently obeys.

 

***

 

Lois was sitting on her porch enjoying a big bowl of cereal when she saw it.  It was a little foggy, but her phone camera had some sort of x-ray feature that Lex installed to assist with her journalism career.  As far as she knows, it’s not up for mass-market yet.  Some breakthroughs, Lex only shares with those he cares about.

It was one of those strange moments where Lois thought that his occasional selfishness was more flattering than annoying. 

Once she had a clear view through the fog, what she saw made her drop her cereal bowl.  It was a plane and it was coming down.  It was too far away to make out significant details, but her heart dropped when she saw the emblem on the tail before it was ripped off.

It was one of LexCorp’s jets.  Was Lex on that plane?  Was Lachlan?  The thought of losing either of them was enough to make her heart stop.  Then, as she zoomed in best as her phone would allow, she saw the little dot.  It was circling the plane.  Its movement was not quite as graceful as she thought it should have been.  There was no cape, which seems mildly disappointing in Lois’ opinion. 

The hammering in her chest was made all the worse when the other wing was ripped off.  Call it a mother’s intuition, but something just told her that either her ex-husband or her son was on that plane. 

Before she knew what was happening, she heard herself screaming at the flying person to save the plane.  Eventually the plane disappeared from view, but there was no distant _boom_ , so maybe that means that the plane didn’t crash?

Several minutes later, Lois’ brain is still racing.  That couldn’t have been Superman.  Even after years of inactivity, surely Superman wouldn’t be _that_ rusty.  And what reason would Supergirl have for venturing out into the Midwest?  Plus, she had a phone conversation with Jimmy Olsen just yesterday.  He said that Supergirl was off helping with an earthquake crisis in Japan. 

“If that’s not Superman or Supergirl, then who the hell is it?” she asks out loud.  Comprehension dawns on her.  “Did one of them have a kid?”

That kind of story would send her career into the stratosphere! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action scenes are not my strong suit, so please let me know how I did.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Joey has had plenty of nervous moments in her life.  She was nervous when she had her first ballet lesson.  She was nervous when she started high school.  It was nerve-wracking when she realized she could lift a tank and outrun an SR-71.  It made her nervous when she had her first period.  She still feels like both her grandfather and Dr. Hamilton forgot to show compassion when determining how her hybrid physiology affected her pubescent stage of life.  Nervous is preparing for a piano recital in front of a bunch of people she could care less about. 

This is worse than all of that.  She flew for heaven’s sake!  She saved a plane full of people.  Sure, there is now a wingless fuselage in the middle of Crows stadium, but that’s better than what could have been, isn’t it?

She came home to find her father giving her the one of the angriest looks she had ever seen.  Today is his birthday.  Today was supposed to be all about making him feel good.  Now all chances of that are utterly ruined and it’s all her fault. 

For the last ten minutes, she has been sitting silently in the living room while her father paces back and forth.  He hasn’t said a word since they walked into the house.  He hasn’t even looked her in the eye. 

All of it is making Joey more and more nervous.  She fights to maintain her composure.  It is taking all of her might not to cry.  Would it be better if she was someone else?  Would it make him happier if she didn’t look so much like her mother as so many have told her?  If her mother was still alive, would she be able to calm him?

“What have I told you about biting your nails?” her father asks, so suddenly that she jumps.  Now that she realizes it, she was biting her nails.  She hasn’t done that in a very long time. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she says in a very small voice. 

Her father ceases his pacing and stares down at her from under his nose.  When he wants to be, he can be quite an imposing figure.  “What exactly are you sorry for, young lady?”

Joey opens her mouth.  “Biting my nails?” she tries. 

Her father scowls.  “I really can’t tell if you are just trying to be funny or not.”

“What do you want me to say?” demands Joey.  “That I’m sorry that I flew?  That was bound happen at one point or another in my life!  I didn’t mean for any of it to happen!  And it’s not like you offered any help with that plane anyway!  What was I going to do?  Just let that plane fall to the ground?  Killing fifty or so people?”

“Don’t get snarky with me!” her father hisses.  “Why didn’t you call for my attention?  I would have helped you!  I would have taken care of it!” 

“Wasn’t my elevated heart rate enough to get your attention?” asks Joey flatly.  “Are you sure weren’t just adamantly determined to not be Superman anymore?”  She knows she’s pushing his buttons, but she doesn’t care.  It’s about time he has had an eye-opener.  “Did you even hear my elevated heart rate?”

“I did hear it,” her father confesses. 

“Then why didn’t you come and help me!” Joey shrieks.  “If had helped, maybe there would have been more of that stupid plane intact!  Maybe it would have landed somewhere else!”

Her father holds up his hand and she shuts up immediately.  “Wait a minute, where did the plane land?”

Joey looks down at her lap.  “Crows football stadium,” she replies meekly.  A stretch of silence follows, one that feels like forever.  Then the last thing she ever expected happens. 

Her father laughs.  She looks up from her lap and stares at him.  That only seems to make him laugh harder. 

“Well, I guess that should be considered karma for having no winning seasons for eight years straight,” her father says thoughtfully between laughs.  “Maybe this will be a good motivator to get them to step up their game.”

“Wait, you’re not angry?” asks Joey, stunned. 

Her father stops laughing immediately and registers her features.  Seeing her worried look, his face softens a bit.  “Angry?” he repeats.  “Joanna, I am not angry with you.”

Joey looks away.  “It sure sounded like it.”  She tries not to notice as she feels the couch sink with the weight of her father as he sits down next to her. 

“Joey, look at me,” he says, placing a finger on her chin and gently turning her head to face him.  She finally sees the anguish in his eyes.  “I’m terrified for you.” 

She frowns up at him.

Her father sighs as he wraps an arm around her and pulls her close.  “Honey, you mean a lot more to me than you’ll ever know.  I’m scared because your safety is my top priority.  Watching you fly, I was overjoyed.  I wish like hell your mother was here to have seen it.  But it also scared the hell out of me because someone had to have seen that.  If some are smart enough, they would be able to realize that Superman wouldn’t have made was clearly a rookie mistake.”  Her father sighs heavily.

“Honey, every day I wake up hoping that you will be safe.  My biggest fear is that someone will discover you and they will move mountains to get their hands on you.  From scientists all the way down to the press, people will want to exploit you, wonder how you exist, until you become nothing more than an exotic attraction at the zoo.  I’ll die before I let that happen.”

“But isn’t it just as bad to keep me in a cage?” Joey asks reasonably.  “Daddy, I was scared to death because I haven’t flown before, but I also felt…freer than I had ever been.  I felt so _alive_.  What’s the point of having these powers if I won’t ever get the chance to use them?”

“Of course, you’ll get the chance to,” her father assures.  “Honey, saving lives is what you were born to do, if you choose to.  But first, you need to master your abilities and find a way to keep your identity safe from harm.”

Joey raises an eyebrow.  “I don’t see you offering me any useful lessons.”  She might as well confess at some point.  “I’ve had to get lessons from Jor-El.”

Just as she expects, her father stiffens.  “What did you say?” he demands in a hoarse whisper.

Joey looks his straight in the eye. “I have been learning how use my powers and basically all of my Kryptonian lessons from _Gramps_.”

Okay, _now_ her father is angry.  He’s basically trembling with rage.  “Gramps?” he repeats.  “When did Jor-El become ‘Gramps’?”

Joey grins.  She might as well be telling him about an outstanding grade she received on a science project, the subject she struggles with the most.  “Since I started seeing him two years ago,” she replies.  “Yeah, he’s been a great teacher.  Yeah, I do wish he would be more expressive and…alive, but oh well.  He’s a great chess opponent.  I haven’t beaten him yet, but I will someday.  He says I get better at the game all the time.  We’re even on an inside joke basis.  I don’t know why, but I thought that he would be about as emotionless as Siri, or Alexa. He’s actually has quite a personality for an A.I., even if he only has one voice.  He’s also very sweet—” 

She was enjoying herself, having no regard for how her father has been reacting to this juicy news.  He’s a reporter, isn’t he?  Shouldn’t juicy news be the best kind of news? 

“ _Sweet_?” her father roars.  This time, she doesn’t jump at the sound of his heightened emotions.  He touches her forehead with the back of his hand.

Joey rolls her eyes, staring up at the hand.  “I don’t have a fever, Daddy,” she assures him lazily.  “But _you_ feel like you’re about to catch fire.  Do you need an ice bath?”

“Oh, no,” her father moans.  “Jor-El has brainwashed you.”  He scrambles to his feet.  “Don’t worry, honey, this’ll be over soon.”

“Daddy, if I’m brainwashed, Lois Lane is an undercover reporter,” Joey says.  Her father rounds on her.  Her eyes widen as she realizes what she just said.  “No, Daddy, I know what you’re thinking, but I was being sarcastic.  I’m _not_ brainwashed!  And Lois Lane is not an undercover reporter; she’s my friend!  I invited her to your birthday party.”

“I’ll deal with Lois Lane later,” her father informs her.  “First I’m going to go to the Fortress and set things straight.”  He bends down to kiss her on the forehead.  “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll save you.” 

“But Daddy…” she tries, but he is already gone.  She sinks back down onto the couch.  “Oh, Gramps, you’re in for a really fun encounter.”

In the meantime, she can just have some fun with her godparents once they arrive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoopsie!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

 

Clark has never been this angry.  At least, he doesn’t remember the last time he was this angry.  He’s been angry before.  Years ago, he was angry when he found out his best friend had been spying on him.  He has been angry when he was under the influence of silver kryptonite and he thought his parents were betraying him.  He was angry when Chloe died.  Actually, that was more anguish than anger. 

Right now, he is so angry he could punch the Grand Canyon until it collapses.  He could slam his fists into the ground until all of America feels the tremors of an earthquake.  He could go and smash every monument in existence dedicated to Superman.  It’s certainly not the first time that he has ever considered it.  Now he wants to go through with is more than ever.  He even sees the appeal in forcing his daughter to touch gold kryptonite until she is completely powerless.

His vision is already impaired due to the effects of gold kryptonite.  How much worse could his vision become if he fully touched it?  The backlash he would receive for taking away the choice for his daughter to be a hero would be swift.  He would lose respect from just about everyone, including his daughter.  His wife would roll over in her grave, if not come back to haunt him.  He doesn’t care. 

It’s been a long time since he has flown.  He was wearing his glasses instead of his contacts, so he had to stuff them in his pocket, otherwise they would be swept away by the wind.  His vision is blurred, but he can still see where he is going.

At the speed he is flying, it’s not long before the plains of central United States turns into the tundra of northern Canada, before finally the icecaps of the Arctic.  He can’t help stopping just briefly when he spots a family of polar bears or two.  Conservation efforts have greatly increased in the past few years and based on what Clark has read, numbers in polar bears are actually increasing.

Soon, the unmistakable shape of the Fortress of Solitude comes into view.  Pile of crisscrossing ice and crystal has become little more than a crypt in Clark’s opinion.  First it was just a place with a disembodied voice belonging to his biological father and then it became a place where his wife’s body lies in a crystal coffin. 

He descends to the ground, violently.  Then he rushes into the fortress, entering the main room. 

“JOR-EL!” he screams. 

At first there is no response, but then, “Kal-El, it has been a long time, my son.”

“Don’t waste my time, Jor-El!” warns Clark.  “What have you done to my daughter?”

“I have done nothing to Joanna, Kal-El,” replies Jor-El. 

“Don’t lie to me!” screams Clark, slamming his fist into a crystal column.  It shatters under his strength.  “My daughter tells me she has been _training_ under you.  The only way that could have happened is if you have hypnotized her!  The same way I was hypnotized that summer after you sent that girl pretending to be my cousin!  So I’m going to say this once:  Release my daughter from your influence, or I swear to God, I will…”

Before he can finish his sentence, the whole fortress begins to shudder.  Then a flurry begins to swirl around him.  That flurry starts to crystalize, turning to ice that wraps around his feet before traveling up his legs.  He tries to break out of it, but the ice is impervious to his strength.

“Do not threaten me, Kal-El,” warns Jor-El as the ice continues to travel upward.  “Yes, I have been training your daughter.  For two years now, I have been training her, comforting her, and providing companionship for her.  She came to me of her own accord.  She was lonely, frightened, and she felt abandoned.”

Clark gapes at that last word.  “Abandoned?” he repeats incredulously.  “I’ve never abandoned her.”

“Perhaps, but it seems that as your daughter has started becoming a woman, you have distanced yourself form her,” explains Jor-El.  “She came to here to seek companionship and comfort that she thought you couldn’t, or wouldn’t provide.  You disappoint me, Kal-El.”

“I’m not going to be Superman anymore, Jor-El.”

“You know very well what I am speaking of,” booms Jor-El.  “You have shirked your duty as a father to your daughter.  Your daughter loves coming here, but you and I both know that I can only do so much.  There are things that even I cannot teach.  That girl needs her father, now more than ever.  By burying your abilities so deep into the past, you have forgotten your responsibility that is Joanna.  You have disrespected me, and the memories of your Earth father and your wife.”

Clark inhales sharply at the mentions of his father and Chloe.  He turns towards the direction of the room in which Chloe’s sarcophagus lies and his eyes brim with tears. 

“I can lose my daughter, Jor-El,” he confesses. 

“So shouldn’t the solution be to train her?” reasons Jor-El.  “Shouldn’t you teach her how to properly use her powers?  Compared to you, I am a textbook.  At least, that is how your daughter describes it.”

Clark allows himself a smile at that.

“What would your wife say if she was here?” asks Jor-El.

Clark inhales sharply.  “She would scold me senseless,” he replies.  “She would accuse me of turning my back on Joey and then say something about being a hero—or former hero—also means being willing to teach our daughter to be the best that she can be.”

“I believe she would say something along those lines as well, my son,” praises Jor-El. 

“I’m just scared for her,” mutters Clark.  “I admire that she saved a plane full of people without any of them getting killed, but she did make a bit of a mess.”

“So it seems.”

Clark whips around as best he can as he is frozen in place from the waist down.  His eyes narrow.  “Kara?”

His older—well technically younger due to some misjudged landing—cousin stands before him with a bright smile upon her face.  She’s dressed in her Supergirl regalia.  Minus the red boots and blue tights, her outfit seems more like a skintight red and blue trench coat with the red symbol of the House of El upon her chest and continuing to her shoulders.  Below the waist, it flares out a bit to form a red “cape” as people in the media have incorrectly labeled it. 

Kara stares quizzically down at the ice surrounding Clark’s legs.  “Are you arguing with Uncle Jor-El again?”           

“Oh, shut up, Kara,” sneers Clark.  “Are you going to help me out of this, or not?”

Kara crosses her arms over her chest.  “Uncle Jor-El, did it sound like Kal asked nicely?”

“No, dear niece, it did not,” replies Jor-El.

Clark rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath.  “Will somebody please let me out of this?”

“Are you going to behave?” asks Jor-El. 

“I promise,” Clark responds tightly.  Then, gradually, the ice around his lower body begins to dissipate.  Once his legs are free, he flexes them, bringing some feeling back into them.  Then he starts walking around the fortress.  It’s been years since he has been here.  He digs through his memory, wondering if he remembers how he felt about this place when it was first created. 

He was eighteen at the time.  The creation of this whole fortress is owed to some crystal formed by these stones of power that people have been fighting over for generations.  It was a strange year for him.  From the stones, to losing his first real girlfriend, Alicia Baker, and finally Chloe finding out his secret, it was an eventful year to say the least.

But how did he feel when he first stepped into this place?  He thinks he remembers feeling a strange sense of awe.  It was strange enough seeing this structure in the middle of the Arctic ice.  He kept wondering if this is what things on Krypton were like.  The place was just a strange mixture of ice and crystal complete with the disembodied voice of his father.  The whole fortress might as well have been his father.  He even started learning from him on the spot, but then it was interrupted by Chloe’s unexpected presence.

Chloe.  As Clark wanders through the fortress, he enters the chamber wherein lies his wife’s sarcophagus.  He stands glued to the spot.  Encased in crystal, Chloe lies swathed in white robes with her hands clasped upon her chest. The Kawatche bracelet he gave to her so long ago twinkles on her wrist.  Her eyes are closed and she looks completely at peace.  Even in death, she’s still the loveliest woman he has ever seen.  He distinctly remembers Joey comparing her to Sleeping Beauty.  If only he could resurrect her with a simple kiss upon her lips.  He finally brings himself to approach her. 

He is standing over her now and, as if of its own accord, one of his hands reaches out to touch the crystal.  He sighs heavily.  Memories flood his mind, crashing down on him with the weight of a tsunami wave.  Surprisingly, none of the memories are sad ones, not even remotely. 

His mind flashes to the date he and Chloe met.  They were in the eighth grade and Chloe had just moved in from Metropolis.  He remembers that striped shirt she wore, the flap at the ends of her hair, her bangs, and her smile.  She kissed him and he still remembers the words she said,

_“I know you’ve been thinking about it all day.  So I just thought we’d get it out of the way and be friends.”_

They became the closest of friends.  They had ups and downs—sometimes more downs than ups—but they always pulled through.

He remembers asking her to the Spring Formal, seeing her in her pink dress.  He remembers asking her to dance on the night of their prom.  For a while, they went about their separate ways as she went to MetU and he came back to the Fortress to train.  Originally, he wasn’t going to, but then his father died and he just needed a break from his life.  When he came back from the Fortress a year later, Chloe had graduated from the basement at the Daily Planet to the bullpen as a full-fledged reporter.  He was so proud of her. 

His memories jump to their first real date; the first time they made love; the day she proposed to him; their wedding; to the day that Joey was born; Joey’s first steps…

Tears spill down his cheeks, yet none of them seem to be of sorrow. If anything, he is simply proud of the time he was able to share with Chloe.  He will always wish it could have been longer, but he wouldn’t trade any of that time for anything. 

Eventually, he feels a hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t acknowledge it right away. 

“She was a special woman, wasn’t she?” he asks, not really expecting an answer.

“She was,” agrees Kara.

“I miss her so much,” continues Clark.  “My daughter is turning into a woman and there are just some things that I can’t teach her.  Remember when I tried to teach her about her period?”  He hears his cousin groan behind him.

“With clarity,” she responds through her teeth.  “What was it you compared menstrual cycles to?  Wasn’t it…?”

“Can we not?” shrieks Clark, whipping around to face his cousin.

“…‘monthly mild electrocutions’?” finishes Kara, her amusement growing by the second.  “Way to make your poor girl afraid of being a woman.  You’re lucky that she called Martha and I.”

It’s Clark’s turn to groan.  “My mom was about ready to smack me over the head.  She said…”

“Leave the parts about being a woman for the women to explain,” he and Kara recite. 

He laughs.  “I can only imagine what Chloe would have said to me trying to teach Joey about that stuff.”

“She would probably say something very witty and snarky that would leave you afraid of being a man for life.”

Clark thinks about that.  “Yeah, that sounds about right.  Why are you here?”

Kara’s eyes turn serious.  “I don’t have my phone with me, but there is something you should know.”

“And what is that?”

“As you’ve probably guessed, Joey’s first super-save didn’t go unnoticed,” explains Kara.  “I was coming back from a coffee run for Ms. Grant when I saw a video someone posted on the internet.  Obviously, there was no clear image of Joey, but the video is already viral and Cat asked for Supergirl.” 

Clark smirks.  “And what does she hope to get from Supergirl?”

Kara crosses her arms over her chest.  “She’s a gossip columnist turned magazine icon; she is going to want an exclusive.  She’s probably going to ask me if Superman is back.”

“How do you plan to answer that?” asks Clark.

“I don’t know, Kal,” replies his cousin, shaking her head.  “I don’t want to give anyone false hope of the Man of Steel making a return, but I don’t the media speculating about the possibility of another ‘super-someone’.  I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, cuz.”

Clark considers her thoughtfully.  He’s grateful for the lengths she is going through to protect the secret of his fatherhood, but feels ashamed because of the weight that it puts on her, on her career.  “Has she made any threats as to what would happen if she doesn’t get her exclusive?”

Kara smiles at his humor.  “She’s doing her best to control the story.  She desperately wants Catco to be the first to print something on the matter and, by her logic, the best solution to help gain some traction is to get an exclusive from the women she dubbed ‘Supergirl’.  If she doesn’t get her exclusive within the week, she is going to start firing people left and right.”

“Can’t Supergirl lecture her on that matter?” jokes Clark. 

Kara laughs.  “When I first unveiled myself as Supergirl, she threatened to fire _me_ if I didn’t get her an interview.” Her humor quickly disappears.  “She does worry me.  I know you’ve told me she can be as ditzy as she can be arrogant, but she can be surprisingly clever. Recently, she confronted me, convinced that Supergirl and the bespectacled blonde who used to be her personal assistant before moving up are one and the same.”

Clark raises his eyebrows.  “That’s quite the predicament,” he might have sounded a little more sarcastic than he meant to, but he is nonetheless sympathetic.  It’s always dangerous for them, the more people who know who they are. 

“Yeah, but it’s my problem to deal with.”  She straightens up.  “Your problem right now is making sure that making sure that girl of yours learns to use her powers without making a mess.  She’s a special kid.”

Clark looks away from his cousin.  “I know she is,” he says quietly. 

“Yeah, but does _she_ know you think that?” reasons Kara.  “You do wonderful things for her and you’ve been teaching her how to be a good person, but when it comes to her powers, you pretty much treat them like they don’t exist.  When was the last time you made any sort of comment on her progress with them?”

Clark doesn’t answer that question.  As he thinks about it, he’s suddenly all too aware of just how much he has ignored that part of his daughter.  He would love to reason otherwise, but logic is reminding him that by ignoring even a small part of his daughter is inherently wrong.  His father never ignored him.  Jonathan Kent might have been one of the most stubborn people he ever knew, but Clark knows he never ignored him.

How did it take his daughter saving a plane—albeit sloppily—to realize just how badly he has messed up?  Losing Chloe was one of the worst days of his life, but he took it too far.  The world can live without its Superman, but how can he stand over the graves of his wife and father knowing he has been screwing up as a father himself? 

“I guess I have a lot of work to do,” he eventually sums up. 

“Yes you do,” Kara agrees.  “But how about you get through your birthday first?  Speaking of which…” she blurs away, leaving a gust of snow in her wake.  Not a minute later, she returns with a package in her hand.  “Happy birthday, cuz,” she says, holding out the gift.

Clark allows himself a smile as he accepts the gift.  He rips off the wrapping paper.  His eyes narrow at the small narrow case.  He opens it to reveal a pilot-tipped fountain pen with his name engraved in it.    

“I know it’s not the fountain pen Chloe gave you for your fifth anniversary, but I hope you like it,” explains Kara. 

Clark’s smile turns misty.  He eventually broke that silver-encrusted fountain pen by accidently.  He doesn’t consider himself too sentimental, but it was an anniversary gift and he felt horrible about breaking it.  He still has anniversary gifts from their nine other anniversaries.  “Thanks, Kara.” 

“No problem.  Now why don’t you get home before Joey starts to think that you are ripping this place to pieces?”

Clark chuckles darkly.  “Don’t tempt me.”  Together, the two cousins leave the fortress and shoot into the sky, parting ways in midflight.  He makes it home in two minutes flat.  He lands inside his barn.  With a deep sigh, he fishes his glasses out of his pocket and puts them on.  A sigh escapes his lips at seeing everything a little crisper.  He checks his watch.  Oliver and Tess should be here in about an hour. 

“Daddy?”

He turns around and sees his daughter standing in the doorway of the barn.  A small smile finds its way into his features.  “Not bad, kid.”

She must know what he is talking about as her face lights up. 

“Let’s get through today, but we do have to work on those abilities of yours, missy.”

“Got it.”

He hopes that that enthusiasm will spread to him at some point.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kara’s outfit, I drew inspiration from the Smallville season eleven comics.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

At first Lois doesn’t know why she sees the Silverado pull up to her house.  Then she sees the African American young man that she saw Joey with the other night step out of the car.  She remembers him volunteering to pick her up on his way to Joey’s house. 

For the umpteenth time, she says to herself how much she longs to be out her leg cast.  As Dylan Ross walks up to her porch, she can’t help smirking.  He’s wearing a well-worn leather jacket that looks older than him and close-fitting jeans over his pointed-toed cowboy boots.  Those boots are so shiny, Lois wonders if they are brand-new or if he just takes really good care of them.  Either way, it doesn’t look like he wears them as working boots.  As he nears, she catches a whiff of cologne.  It’s not an overwhelming amount, which tells her that he understands that one doesn’t really need more than a sprit or two of cologne. 

He is dressed to impress.  She has a pretty good idea of who he’s trying to impress.  She can feel the urge to tease him about it, but forces it down. 

“Ms. Lane,” greets Dylan as he steps onto the porch.  “How are you doing today?”

“I’ll be doing a lot better if you call me ‘Lois,’” she responds.  “I’m an old woman; you don’t have to remind me of the fact.”

Dylan laughs nervously.  Strange; he seemed so confident the other night.  Maybe he feels more comfortable with people closer to his age.  “Well then, _Lois_ , are you ready to go?”

“You’re not going to put me in the back of that pickup, are you?” she asks suspiciously. 

Dylan cranes his neck to look at his truck, and then turns back to her with a smirk.  “It has an extended cab.  I was planning on helping you into the back seat, but if you would prefer the back, we can do that too.”

Lois stares long and hard into the young man’s eyes.  He stares right back, not so much as flinching under her gaze which she knows she inherited from her father.  Eventually a smile spreads across her lips.  “I like your sense of humor, kid.”

For the first time since she met him, he looks a little smug.  It’s nice to see that he’s not as flawless as he seems.  It’s one of the things that she has always loved about Lex. 

To say Lex Luthor is a flawed individual is a horrible understatement.  That man can be charming, annoying, subtly quirky, and completely scary all at once.  Behind closed doors, he can be all fluff, especially with Lachlan.  When Lachlan first came into their lives, Lois sometimes found herself acting as an anchor for him.  Her former father-in-law was a terrible father and Lois was the one to help Lex keep from overcompensating. 

Likewise, he was there to keep her from overcompensating since she didn’t even have a mother for half her childhood.  She’s a flawed woman too.  Lois will never tell a soul, but there was one year when they two of them exchanged “Flawed and Sexy of the Year” awards.  The awards themselves were just plaques they bought online and wrote the words on them in sharpie. 

“So do you need help standing up?” asks Dylan.

Lois rolls her eyes and throws up in her arms in defeat.  Truth be told, she could use some help.  She hoped to get that help from Joey Kent, but her father made it clear that she didn’t want them seeing each other.  Clark Kent seems like a guy who really needs to take a chill pill in life, but she wasn’t going to disrespect the man’s wishes.  Plus, it still scares her that he pointed a shotgun at her.  She thought he was actually going to shoot her! 

“You’re such a gentleman,” she teases. 

Dylan smiles as he walks up to her.  He bends down and places his hands under her shoulders.  At least he doesn’t seem to feel awkward about touching a woman.  She grasps his arms.  On the count of three, he lifts her out of her porch chair.  He then grabs her crutches for her.

She then follows him off of her porch towards his truck.  He opens the door for her, but she insists on getting into the back seat herself.  After sticking her crutches in the trunk bed, she hops to the open car door.  Facing away from the seat, she plants her hands on it, lifts herself up, and slides onto the seat.  She then meets Dylan’s look. 

He looks like he can’t decide if he should be impressed or scared.

She smirks.  “Let me tell you something, kid,” she says.  “If you get yourself a girlfriend and she can’t do this, then you’ll be dating a sissy.”

Dylan turns away, hiding his obvious blush as he climbs into the driver’s seat.  Soon they are on the road.  Lois is silent for a few minutes as Dylan listens to music via his Bluetooth.  He seems to enjoy classical music.  He would definitely get along with Lex in that regard.  If she remembers correctly from listening to Lex’s selections, it’s Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.  Maybe part of the reason she remembers is because of how much she enjoys the energetic violin work of the piece. 

“Say, Lois, you’re journalist, aren’t you?” asks Dylan, turning down the radio a bit. 

She didn’t see that conversation-starter coming.  “Yes?” she responds, even if she thinks the proper term is _were_.  She _was_ a journalist.  Now she’s just a disgraced journalist who has probably been blacklisted from any respectable newspaper in the country. 

“You want to hear something crazy?” continues Dylan.

“Crazier than me attending a birthday party for a guy who doesn’t like me?” she challenges.

Dylan doesn’t answer immediately.  “I don’t know about that, but I pass the school on my way here and get this.  There’s a plane wreck in the middle of the school football field.” 

Lois is so glad that she wasn’t the one behind the wheel.  “ _What_?” exclaims.  “You’re not kidding me?”

“It looked like half the town had gone over there,” explains Dylan.  “I don’t know if they are trying to help or just spectating, but the fire department, the sheriff, news trucks from the Daily Planet, CNN, even Fox News.  If you don’t believe me, I think it’s on the radio.”  He turns on his radio and tunes to a local news station. 

“ _...local officials still say they have no clue what happened, but several accounts from townspeople as well as passengers from the plane say they saw someone flying.  No one has confirmed nor denied if this is indeed the work of Superman or Supergirl, but various accounts have stated that this was ‘too messy’ for either one.  Also, based on accounts from passengers, they didn’t see this flying person wearing red and blue.  Is it possible that we are looking at another Kryptonian?  Is it possible that this could be an unrelated person, or even relative of the super-cousins?_

_“On the matter of supers, no one has seen nor heard from Superman in years.  Since the infamous Pulitzer-winning article ‘Why the World Doesn’t need Superman’, the Man of Steel has all but disappeared from the media, save for occasional stories.  Tabloid writers, bloggers, and conspiracy theorists have written various theories about the fate of Superman, but most can be boiled down to two possible conclusions:  either the Man of Steel has died, or has simply retired._

_“Based on what we’ve seen today in Smallville, a town also known as the Meteor Capital of the World, people are starting to ask if it is the latter.  As some of you may know, there has been some speculation that Superman came from Smallville, based on the number of similar saves that have occurred in this town prior to Superman’s debut.  Is it possible that we are standing in the home of Superman?  If we are, and he is listening to this report, we ask you, what have you been doing these past seven years?  Why did you abandon Metropolis?  And have you started a family?_

_“Is it possible that we are looking at the offspring of Superman?  Did Superman and Supergirl have a child?  If not, do we have an answer to the question of whether the Man of Steel, or Girl of Steel, can have a child with a human being?  As Supergirl is the only super who is currently active, I suppose she is the only one who can answer that question.  Our sources in National City are currently awaiting a comment from the Girl of Steel._

_“Meanwhile, here in Smallville, Kansas, some family members of the passengers seem to be arriving at the scene.  In fact, one of the people who have come is former Kansas State governor, Lex Luthor.  It appears that his adopted son, Lachlan Luthor, was among the passengers.  We are here with him now, Governor Luthor do you have any thoughts on what happened here?”_

Lois holds her breath. 

 _“That’s just ‘Mr. Luthor’, these days,”_ responds Lex’s voice.  Lois’ shock, fear, and relief at hearing that her Lachlan was on that ill-fated plane are echoed in her ex-husband’s voice.  _“All I can say about today is that I am grateful that all the passengers, as well as my son, Lachlan are safe.”_

 _“And the matter of how this happened, what can you say about that?”_ asks the interviewer.  _“What are your thoughts on the running theory that this could possibly be another Kryptonian?”_

Lois is actually very interested in hearing what Lex has to say.  Superman was always a subject that they had a lot of disagreements on.  One of the few things they _did_ agree on when it came to the Man of Steel was his potential harm to the environment.  She also could never argue with Lex’s concerns over how the mayhem and destruction caused by Superman and his enemies affected the cost of living in Metropolis.  It always seemed wrong to say something along the lines of _it’s not like he destroyed half the city_.

“ _I have no comment on the matter other than to repeat my previous statement,”_ replies Lex.  _“Whoever it was, whatever it was, saved my son and that’s all the matters to me right now.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take my son home.”_

If they were still married, Lois would likely be there with him mouthing off at everyone who might’ve been harassing her son for an interview.  Lachlan is an amazing lip-reader, but there are two things—the adorable brat is really good at pretending he can’t and he would have trouble responding to questions.  All she can do is say a silent prayer of gratitude for the fact that he is safe. 

Suddenly the idea that there might be another Kryptonian—she really wishes that _she_ could have been the one to break that story—is nothing compared to the fact that her son was on that stupid plane!  She saw what happened.  Her gut is telling her that whoever saved that plane was also what caused that plane to go down. 

She soon realizes that her hands have balled into fists, her nails digging painfully into her hands, almost to draw blood.  Her teeth are clenched so hard that she is worried they will break.  “Turn it off.”

“Sorry, what?” asks Dylan. 

“Turn off the radio,” repeats Lois.

“Is everything okay?”

“Just turn it off.”  Without another word, Dylan turns off the radio and the truck falls silent.  She cranes her neck and stares out the window.  They are passing a clear field.  For first time in her life, she wishes she had a lump of kryptonite.  For one savage minute, she doesn’t want to hunt Superman, or whoever it was, for an interview.  She wants to make them to suffer, to feel a small dose of the pain she is feeling right now. 

If it was indeed a child of Superman, she would like to scream at the man for his child’s recklessness.  If that child can’t do it without making a mess, then he or she doesn’t belong in the air at all.  As Lois closes her eyes, she can envision herself rubbing that lump of kryptonite over the child like a bar of soap.

She opens her eyes again.  What the hell is she thinking?  It’s Lex’s job to be the savage one.  Although, she does remember him telling her once that people should be more afraid of her than of him.  She responded with a playful roar. 

“Ah, it looks like we are here,” announces Dylan.  Indeed, they pass a sign that says “Kent Farm.”  He turns into the long driveway. 

Now that Lois is being driven here, she notices that she doesn’t live very far from the Kents.  How much faster could she get here on foot if she didn’t have crutches and a bad leg to worry about?  She could make a good exercise out of jogging to this house. 

She braces herself as the quaint yellow house draws nearer.  As they do, she sees that she and Dylan are not the only guests. 

Dylan whistles.  “Now, who owns that Lamborghini?”

Lois raises herself with her hands to get a better view out the front window.  Indeed there is a sleek, black Lamborghini.  “I think I have a pretty good idea,” she mutters as Dylan parks the truck. 

He gets out and grabs her crutches for her.  Then he opens the door for her.  If he keeps this up, she might very well offer him a job.  He helps her out of the truck and then holds out her crutches.

“Kid, I hope you never have to deal with a broken leg,” says Lois as she grabs her crutches.

“I sprained my arm once,” says Dylan.  “It was recess at Smallville Elementary and I broke a fall with my arm.”  Lois winces.  “But I’ve never broken a bone in my life.”

“And I hope you never do,” repeats Lois in earnest.  The pain, the inconvenience, and the inability to perform certain basic tasks all suck.  Although, even if she did hire Dylan just to drive her around, she is sure that once she is out of her cast that she can find other uses for him. 

Is she really so pathetic for finding friendship in people half her age?

Together, the two of them walk up to the yellow house. 

“Are you nervous, kid?” asks Lois as they walk up the steps of the porch.

Dylan takes a deep breath, his hands in the pockets of his jacket.  “Clark Kent is pretty much the Boo Radley of Smallville.  People say all sorts of things.  Some of my classmates have said that Mr. Kent buries trespassers alive in his back forty.  Some even say that he fertilizes his crops with kids who he catches sneaking onto his property.  Hell, some idiots even claim that he killed his wife just because she reached menopause.”

Lois stops dead in her tracks.  “And do you believe any of that?”

Dylan looks her straight in the eye.  “No, I do not.  I do know what happened to his wife.  They loved each other.”

Lois can’t help herself.  “What happened to her?”

Dylan sighs heavily.  “I’m not sure I’m the right person to be telling you that,” he says in a low voice.  “All I will tell you is that Clark Kent would rather be ‘hanged, drawn, and quartered than harm his wife’ as my dad puts it.  My dad’s a bad liar; I believe him when he tells me that he has never seen anyone love each other like Clark and Chloe Kent.”

Lois nods softly.  “Well, let’s move onto something more cheerful, shall we?”  She steps up to the door and knocks three times with her crutch.

About five seconds later, the door swings open.  The person who answered is not one of the Kents.  The only things about him that can be compared to a Kent—Clark Kent, anyway—is his towering height and muscular frame.  That’s about where the similarities end.  Spiky blond hair with razor-sharp features and high cheekbones…it can’t be anyone other than Oliver Queen.  One thing about him that has always made him stand apart from Lex is his choice of clothes.  Like Lex, Oliver Queen tends to wear high-end clothing, but he also tends to wear lighter colors.  As such, he is wearing close-fitting jeans with a green shirt and light gray blazer. 

As soon as he meets Lois’ eyes, they narrow.  “Lois?” he asks. 

“You two know each other?” asks Dylan. 

“He and my ex-husband know each other,” responds Lois.  Not many know that Lex Luthor and Oliver Queen are, in fact, brothers-in-law through Tess Mercer.  Tess Mercer is Lex’s half-sister, his _bastard_ half-sister.  One of the things that Lois could never fully accomplish was to establish a more amiable relationship between Lex and his half-sister.  She had a pretty good relationship with Tess.  She’s not sure how that relationship is now due to the very same reason she and Lex divorced. 

“And who are you, kid?” asks Oliver, eyeing Dylan. 

Dylan stands up straight.  “Dylan Ross, sir.  I’m a friend of Joey’s.”

Oliver nods slowly, looking Dylan up and down.  He reminds Lois of someone running an inspection report on a new vehicle.  Watching Dylan, Lois sees that he doesn’t even flinch under Oliver’s gaze.  If this is how Oliver Queen regards boys who claim to be friends with Joey, she worries how Clark Kent will view him.

“Well, Dylan Ross, Lois, what’re you two still doing outside?” asks Oliver, opening the screen door.  Lois suppresses a scoff at the fact that he didn’t meet her eye. 

Dylan holds the door for her and she steps into the Kent house for the second time.  At least no one shot at her this time, but the afternoon is still young. 

“God, Clark, quit getting all the good cards!” laughs an adult feminine voice.  It doesn’t take long for Lois to see the source of the voice.  Dressed in a purple satin blouse and knee-high high-heeled boots over blue jeans is Tess Mercer.  Her hair is perfect as always, a curtain of red with loose curls at the end.  She’s sitting around the table with Clark and Joey.  It looks like they, along with Oliver, were in the middle of a card game.  Lois manages to see what cards they are.  They are playing Cards against Humanity.

“But it’s my birthday, Tess,” argues Clark.  “And it’s like Apples to Apples—I can’t control what cards I get.  Only the ones put down.  Besides _you_ were the one who gave me that card.” 

Tess only grumbles, eliciting a laugh out of Clark and Joey.  Lois has seen Joey laugh, has seen how her whole face lights up when she laughs or smiles.  Up until now, she has not seen a trace of joy from her father.  Seeing him smile and laugh, he looks a little younger.  She assumes that Joey takes more after her mother, but she can see the mirroring in their smiles.  There’s just something oddly inviting about Clark’s smile, the kind that just gives Lois the impression of somebody willing to be everybody’s friend. 

But when his blue eyes lock with her hazel eyes, that smile is gone.  He rises from his chair and Lois gulps.  He slowly strides towards her.  “Lois Lane…and Dylan,” he adds, indicating him.  “How’s your dad, Dylan?”

Dylan clears his throat, but otherwise looks a little terrified of the older man.  “He’s…doing great, sir.”

Clark smirks.  “Call me ‘Clark’, kid.  Please don’t remind me of how old I am.”  He turns back to Lois.  “I assume my daughter invited you both?”

Lois nods wordlessly. 

The man turns around and locks eyes with his daughter.  From what Lois can see, the teenager is unfazed.  She does look like she’s had a rough day though.  She doesn’t look like a mess; Lois’ gut just seems to be telling her that this hasn’t been the smoothest day for the young lady.  Why is that?  Are her father’s birthdays that stressful for her?

“I guess you’ll have to remind me to reward you for your deviousness, missy,” Clark finally says.  He turns back to Lois and Dylan.  “Well make yourselves at home.”

He turns around and goes back to his game of Cards against Humanity where Oliver has already rejoined them.  The entire time, Lois realizes, Tess’s eyes have not left her.  Lois looks straight back at her form sister-in-law.  They used to be friends.  Maybe they weren’t close friends—she didn’t know anything about Tess’s goddaughter—but Lachlan enjoyed spending time with Tess when she would come for a visit. 

So she is in a house with a man who dislikes her and a woman who is perhaps eternally disappointed in her.  She wishes Tess would quit looking at her.  The more she stares, the more the weight of her guilt seems to crush her. 

She can’t stay.  “I’m sorry, everyone I can’t stay.”

The conversations which have only just resumed has ceased again. 

“What?” asks Dylan, who has sat at the table where Joey has dealt him a stack of cards.  “We just got here; what’s the matter?”

“I…something’s come up,” she apologizes, but it’s Joey she’s looking at.  “Dylan, you can stay.  I can walk home.”

“Nonsense.”  Lois’ eyes return to Tess.  “I can drive her home.”

“Mercy, are you sure?” asks Oliver. 

“Positive, babe,” replies Tess, rising to her feet.  She bends down to give her husband a kiss on the cheek before turning to Clark and Joey.  “I’ll be back, everyone.  Maybe when I do, you can tell me a little more about yourself, Dylan Ross.”

Dylan gulps, to which Clark, Oliver, and Joey smirk.  Barely a few minutes and Clark seems to like the boy better than Lois.  That’s a little unfair.

Oliver gives Tess the car keys and she walks over to Lois.  “Well, are you ready to leave… _sis_?” she hisses the word like it’s venom on her lips. 

Maybe if Lois’ leg wasn’t in a cast, she would have an easier time trying to make amends to the people she’s hurt in her life recently.  Better late than never, right? 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait.

Lois’ house isn’t particularly far from the Kent farm.  However, sitting in a car with her former sister-in-law does seem to make the trip feel a lot longer.  As soon as they entered the car, for a minute, the only sound was that of Oliver’s Lamborghini. 

Getting into the car was tricky, given Lois’ leg.  She got in eventually, but she’s not exactly comfortable.  Tess seems perfectly okay with that.  Lois tried to reach for the radio not long after she got in the car, but Tess viciously smacked her hand away.

It was obvious that she was waiting a long time to do that.  Lois’s hands were healed, but they were still a little tender.  That might have been the reason the smack hurt so much, or it could have just been that Tess hit her hand that hard.

She and Tess used to be friends.  Knowing that Tess had a goddaughter all along feels like a little bit like a betrayal to Lois.  Lois was always open with Tess when they would meet each other for a coffee, or shared a beer.  They would talk about their husbands and the woes of motherhood. 

Had they still been in touch, Lois could have listened while Tess talked about Bobby.  It must have been horribly embarrassing for her and Oliver, Bobby ending up in juvie.  He must be out now.  If he is out of juvie, where is he?  Why isn’t he in town with his parents, celebrating Clark Kent’s birthday?  Maybe the case is that the legal punishment might be over, but the same can’t be said for the parental punishment. 

“How’s Bobby?” asks Lois, her curiosity getting the better of her. 

“He’s working,” Tess answers simply.  “We made him get a part-time job at a local grocery store.”  A couple more minutes of silence ask.  “Is this the part where you hope that I bring up the elephant in the car?”

Lois says nothing. 

“Fine, Lois, what the hell are you doing in Smallville?” demands Tess. 

“Is that any of your business anymore?” counters Lois. 

“When it’s the same town as my goddaughter and closest friend, yes it is.”  Lois tries not to wince at hearing the part about redhead’s closest friend not being her.

“Fine,” she says tightly.  “If you must know, I didn’t plan on being in this town.  I met Joey Kent by chance.  She’s the one who saved my life after my car accident.”

“So why did you stay in town?” continues Tess.  “Don’t tell me it’s about your Superman pet project.”  Judging by the roll of her eyes, it seems she has answered her own question.  “It is, isn’t it?”

Lois sighs heavily.  “In my defense, that plane crash earlier today was proof that Superman, or someone with similar powers as Superman is still out there.  The fact that it happened here of all places, and based on my research from passed saves, Smallville seems to be the right place to look.”

“And say you do find Superman, what then?” challenges Tess as they turn into Lois’ long driveway.  “What if he refuses an interview?  What’re you going to do?  Write an exposé anyway?  ‘Superman Lives…in Rural Kansas, written by Pulitzer-winner Lois Lane’ plastered on the front page of the _Daily Planet_.”

That actually doesn’t sound half-bad, in Lois’ opinion. 

“Is being the woman who exposes the whereabouts of a potentially unwilling Superman more important than being a mother?” asks Tess. 

Now Lois is angry.  She turns her gaze squarely on the redhead as they near her house.  “That was a low blow, Tess,” she says quietly.

Tess meets her gaze as she slows to a stop.  She is completely unfazed.  “Low blow or not, it’s the truth, isn’t it?” she taunts.  “Restraining order or not, have you made _any_ real effort to make amends?  Or have you drowned your sorrows?  Looking for Superman in the bottom of a shot glass, or making plans to resume your hunt for Superman after you get that cast off of your leg?”

Lois is fuming.  “I love my son,” she says quietly.  “All I want is to be a part of his life.  And I hate myself every day for what I did to him.  I’m tired of being at the whipping post for what happened.”

“The only person tying you to a whipping post right now is you, Lois,” says Tess smartly.  “This Superman pet project of yours, it’s nothing more than you trying to distract yourself from your guilt.  Isn’t it, Lo?”

Lois is beginning to see why her ex-sister-in-law and Clark Kent are close friends.  She got a similar speech from him.  She doesn’t see much in common between the two, but then again, she doesn’t know the details of their friendship.  “So what am I supposed to do, Mercy?” she asks, throwing up her hands.  “Am I supposed to violate an active restraining order just to see my son?”  

Tess tears her gaze from Lois and smirks.  “You might not need to.”

Lois follows her gaze and her heart skips a beat at what she sees.  She sees a Porsche.  Lex loves his Porsches. 

“Looks like you will have plenty more to talk about,” says Tess.  “Now get out, I have a birthday to help celebrate.”

Lois shoots her a dark look as she struggles to get out of the car.  As soon as she is out with her crutches, Tess turns around and speeds off, leaving a trail of flying dirt behind her.

“Mrs. Queen sure knows how to make an exit,” says a voice she knows all too well. 

Lois follows the direction of the voice and sees Lex walking out of the shed.  He’s dressed in his usual dark attire with his black suit and purple shirt and tie.  He has his hands in his pockets and Lois’ heart sinks as she sees who walks up beside him, grabbing Lex’s hand.  There’s one thing that separates Lex from his father, Lionel.  He lets his son hold his hand. 

“Lachlan,” whispers Lois as she fights back emotion. 

Her adoptive son looks much better than the last time she saw him, which was in a hospital bed.  His mop of blond hair is neatly combed sideways and his hazel eyes are as handsome as ever.  His outfit looks like a smaller version of Lex’s suit, except he has no tie and his shirt is red. 

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Lois signs, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Lachlan turns his face away from her.  Not being able to hear her, it’s all he needs to do to completely shut her out. 

“How is he?” asks Lois. 

“He’s actually doing quite well,” replies Lex.  “Both with what you’re talking about _and_ the events of today.”

“How’re _you_ handling it?”

Lex sighs.  “I’d be lying if I said wasn’t still angry at you, Lo,” he admits.  “And I’m still shaken up about the fact that Lachlan could have died today.”

Lois cocks an eyebrow.  “How did you know where I live?”

Lex smiles lightly.  “A fair question,” he acknowledges.

“Are you having me followed, Lex?” demands Lois.

Lex lifts his eyebrows.  “It’s not what you think.  I was contacted when you had your car accident.  After that, I had someone keep an eye on you until you got back on your feet…literally.  When I found out that you had found yourself a home, I didn’t see any further reason to monitor you.  I still care about you, Lois.”

Lois doesn’t want to admit it, but she believes him when he says that.  She sighs heavily.  “Would you like to come inside?”

Lex grins.  “I’d love to.”  He looks down at Lachlan and squeezes his hand a little.  “Let’s go inside Mom’s house.” 

Lachlan is a good lip-reader.  He looks from Lex to Lois and back again.  He looks apprehensive, but he nods. 

“So what were you doing in my shed?” asks Lois as they walk towards her house.  She makes no effort to protest as he helps her up the steps. 

“Lachlan wanted to see what was under that tarp,” replies Lex.  “That GTO is an impressive car.”  He smirks.  “Was that car part of the reason you bought this house?” he teases.

Lois rolls her eyes.  “It _was_ a contributing factor.”  Lex chuckles and she laughs with him as she opens her door. 

“I see you’ve adapted to living in a town where no one locks their doors.”

“This is actually a pretty decent town,” admits Lois.  “Did you used to live in Smallville?”

“A long time ago,” confirms Lex as he and Lachlan step inside her house.  “I’ll admit, sometimes I miss the quietness of living out in the country.”  Lois watches him as he takes a careful look around the place.  “It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks.”

“I never thought you would settle for quaintness.”

Lois laughs softly.  “Me neither.”  She smiles up at him.  “If you remember, you spent a long time trying to win me over.”

Lex laughs.  “I did learn the hard way that I wasn’t going to win you over with expensive gifts.”

Lois holds up a finger.  “But I did love that dress you sent me for our first date.”  She smiles fondly as she remembers the black dress Lex sent her.  It was classy and not overly revealing.  However, it did hug her curves quite nicely and the skirt also hugged her legs, but didn’t make walking a daunting task.

“That dress was a gamble,” Lex admits.  “I had no clue if you would like that dress or not.  Honestly, knowing you, I was certainly that you would send it back either cut up or redecorated.”

“I considered doing that.”  She laughs as Lex shoots her an undignified look.  Her laugh dies down soon.  “So why are here?”

Lex sighs.  He looks Lois’ living room where she got rid of her leather couch and replaced it with plush, overstuffed couches that fit the place better. 

“Please sit down,” invites Lois.  “Do you want anything to drink?  I don’t have any alcohol,” she adds, seeing his questioning gaze. 

Lex smiles as he talks a seat on one of the couches.  Lois goes into her kitchen and finds Lachlan sitting at her table.  He’s eating one of her blueberry bagels.  She smirks at him.  “Do you want some cream cheese with that?” she signs.

Lachlan stares up at her.  He sighs and nods. 

Lois smiles as she opens up her refrigerator, pulls out two bottles of water and the tub of cream cheese.  She sets the cream cheese and a butter knife in front of her son.  “Don’t be greedy,” she signs, offering a teasing grin. 

Lachlan just smiles back and begins smearing cream cheese on his bagel. 

Lois returns to her living room and tosses a bottle to Lex.  He catches it reflexively.  She sits in the armchair across from him. 

“I am here because I wanted to see how you were doing,” Lex swears, opening his bottle of water. 

“If you didn’t impose that restraining order, I could’ve told you about my progress myself.”  Lois doesn’t hide the hurt in her voice.  “I miss you and Lachlan.  Every day I go without being allowed to contact you and our son just…hurts.”

Lex sighs heavily.  “I miss you too, Lo,” he admits.  “That’s also why I’m here.”

Lois frowns.

“I’m willing to call our lawyer and renegotiate the terms of our divorce,” says Lex.  “Hold your horses,” he adds as Lois nearly leaps from her chair at him.  “Maybe we can’t save our marriage, but we can do is work out how to fit our son into both our lives.  I don’t want you missing from Lachlan’s life.  And honestly, I don’t want you missing from my life either.”

Lois’ heart is bursting with happiness.  After all these months, that is the best thing she could here.  She also knows when he is being manipulative and this isn’t one of those times.  She holds back her excitement.  “But there’s a catch, isn’t there?”

Lex nods carefully.  “I need you to show me that you’ve improved.  Being sober is a good sign, but you need to show me that our son can be safe around you.”

Lois sits up straighter.  “I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” she swears.

Lex gets up and goes over to a window.  “We nearly lost our son today.  I can’t remember the last time I was so scared.”

“Me neither,” agrees Lois.  “You know I did manage to catch some of what happened on my phone.”

Lex whips around.  “You did?” he whispers hoarsely. 

Lois nods, fishing out her phone and tossing it towards Lex.  He catches it and opens up her video library.  “The quality isn’t very good, but it’s the best I could manage.” 

Lex watches the video unblinkingly.  When it’s over, he looks up at Lois.  “Have you released this to the public?”

He doesn’t sound excited.  “No.”

“But you were planning on it?”

Lois looks away.  “That video is proof that my pet project isn’t some wild goose chase.  Obviously, that is a girl and that is too sloppy to be the work of Supergirl.  So either they have another relative, or one of them had a daughter.” 

“Okay, slow down, Lois,” says Lex.  “I’m not saying that this isn’t credible, but I am asking you to wait.”

Did Lois hear him right?  “What do you mean, wait?”

Lex looks up at her.  “Think about it, Lois.  You’re already a disgraced woman in the world of journalism.  What’s the say you give this to the _Daily Planet_ and they publish it under a different name.  You’ve always been reckless; it’s one of the things I always loved about you.  But bribery and blackmail is my forte, not yours.”

“So what are you suggesting?” asks Lois, defeated. 

Lex smiles and reaches into his suit coat.  His hand reappears with a brochure. 

“What’s this?” asks Lois as he steps forward and hands it to her.

“It’s an invitation,” replies Lex.  “Lachlan has a piano recital in a few weeks.  I’d like you to be there.”

Lois squeals as she jumps to her feet.  “He has a piano recital?” she repeats.  “Oh, my goodness, I’m so proud of him!”  Not long after they adopted Lachlan, he saw Lex playing the piano.  Despite not being able to hear himself, he wanted to learn to play.  Lex proved to be a patient teacher.  Eventually, Lachlan managed to become a child prodigy.

“I’m proud of him too,” says Lex with a smile.  “So, what do you say, Lois Lane?” he offers.  “Piano recital and then we can talk about your Superman obsession?”

Lois smiles happily as she looks towards the kitchen.  “Yeah, I’ll sign up for that.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about any of you, but I believe that Lois would happily adopt a deaf child.


End file.
